


The Ivory Merchants

by Heliopause



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Animal Death, Animals, Backstory, Canon-Compliant, Gen, Minor Violence, political/economic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 101,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliopause/pseuds/Heliopause
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Telmarines, westward of Narnia, were effectively blockaded by one hundred years of Winter; now like other nations,  they want to take advantage of the new opening up of Narnia.  Their arrival, and the gift and the news they bring, will plunge the new rulers of Narnia into a complex turmoil of politics, economics, culture clash, moral challenge and urgent rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First contact

**Author's Note:**

> This story owes its genesis to Avia Tantella Scott's sad, lovely story 'What the Elephants Forgot' (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6373192/1/What-the-Elephants-Forgot). And I owe a huge amount to other writers, too, fanfiction being what it is. These are too many to name them all, and I expect there are influences I am not even properly conscious of, but certainly I have been influenced by cofax's work and rthstewart'ss, and of some themes from rthstewart's The Stone Gryphon. My thanks to all these, and also to C.S. Lewis.

**The Ivory Merchants**

**Chapter One: First contact**

**Oddly,** the merchants had come before the ambassadors; it was merchant-traders who had brought the first awareness to the four monarchs of newly-delivered Narnia, that other countries lay outside their borders, and across the seas. The merchants had begun to appear late in that strange, confused summer, several months after the defeat of the White Witch, when the Four had completed their first survey of the kingdom, and were beginning to know their subjects, and their responsibilities.

It was a shock, and a little disconcerting, to realise that the world was so much greater than they had known, and they struggled to assimilate the information they were gaining, and to memorise the strange new names - Archenland, Telmar, Galma, Calormen... and the apparent locations of each place - to the south, to the west, over the sea, and beyond the great desert. ("There's a desert?" Lucy had gasped, astonishment overcoming their usual caution. The Calormene spice-merchant had smiled - kindly enough, but Susan also noted, with the beginnings of unease, that there had been a hint of secret satisfaction in that smile.)

But the Calormene had been smooth in his speaking, and utterly, ungraspably persuasive in his representations of the benefits of trade, and the Four had found themselves nearly agreeing to his very moderate requests, almost before they knew it. The requests were so modest, indeed, that it would have felt churlish to refuse - he asked only to be allowed to bring goods to the Cair Paravel wharfs once each year, in late autumn, he suggested, and to offer them there for sale to any who would buy.

There would be, he had stressed reassuringly, no incursion into Narnia beyond the wharf itself, and then, while Peter was still hesitating, on hearing the word "incursion" - had seemed to drop the request altogether, while he summoned attendants to bring forward a succession of chests, each to be opened it with a flourish, revealing a bewilderingly numerous array of spices, of aromatic and many-coloured seeds, roots and barks - and powders, and dusts, and unguents and balms, healing ointments, perfumes and oils, essences, distillations...

From behind his throne, Peter had heard Windseer's quiet murmur, that some of these were indeed of great merit, for healing, for rubbing heat into old and winter-struck bodies, and for easing pain and bringing sleep; they were difficult to obtain in Narnia, he had said. If the merchant heard that, he gave no sign, but, gesturing to all the panoply of healing, delicacy and luxury, as if to indicate that that array pleaded his case more than words could do, murmured with lowered eyes that benevolence was a stream which watered many gardens, and that the wisdom of rulers was a light to... his voice sank away into a complacent murmuring, and it seemed that he was understanding that he had already been granted the permission he had asked.

"We cannot guarantee that any of our people would wish to buy, though, Master Trader," Peter warned, uncertainly.

The merchant bowed deep, with lowered eyes, his hands sunk open at his sides, in a gesture at once of supplication and acceptance. "To be permitted to offer is all I ask of Your Majesties' so-greatly-admired munificence... " he began, and seemed on the point of beginning his retreat, assuming both permission to trade, and permission to depart.

Behind the throne Windseer stamped one hoof, edgily, and Tumnus looked across warningly; this trader was on the verge of failing in respect to the new rulers of Narnia.

Peter spoke hurriedly. "Master Spicer! We have not yet given that permission! We require that..." He thought quickly; the man must not be allowed to think that he had held the initiative throughout the interview, that Narnia's rulers were mere biddable children in matters of trade. "You must go tomorrow to our harbourmaster, who will determine where and when you will be allowed to offer goods for sale on our wharves. Initially, this will be for one day only in the year, and on that day Narnian spicers will also offer goods for sale."

There _was_ no harbourmaster. Only the rulers themselves and their personal advisors understood how scanty was the staffing of Narnia's government, still, after months of hard work to construct some sort of administration. But of those advisors the two standing closest to the throne would be quick to pick up the cue, and to cover the deficiency, Peter knew.

"Master Tumnus! Please escort this petitioner to our guest-quarters, and advise him of when he may meet the Harbourmaster. He is to remain in the guest-quarters until that meeting."

Tumnus bowed, with an added inclination of his head, to convey to Peter that he understood that he was to find someone to carry out the role of harbourmaster, at least until the spice-trader had gone. The actual trading, Peter supposed, would need to be delayed for some months - for surely no Narnian spicers would be prepared for trade so soon?

But the audience, thank heavens, was over. Windseer was proclaiming their majesties' departure, and all four could stand, nod acknowledgement to the courtesies of the assembled guests, merchants, petitioners and well-wishers, and - at last! - retreat to their private rooms.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Well, that went well!" Peter commented bitterly.

"It did, actually." Susan's assessment was, as ever, both considered and reassuring. "It's okay. He tried it on, and you slapped him down. It's okay. Narnia is no worse off tonight than it was this morning!"

She grinned at him, and reluctantly he half-smiled back.

" _Narnia is no worse off tonight..._ " It had become a catch-phrase between the two of them, half-serious, as they tried to consider if they were actually filling their responsibility for the well-being of this country, and half a reminder that they needed not to take too stressfully every small blunder in fighting their way to being the monarchs Narnia needed. The younger pair seemed able to take their responsibility more lightly. Edmund was serious enough, certainly, but he tended to dive straight to the assessing of situations, and consideration of plans of action, not to dwell on the small details of each day's encounters; Lucy seemed able to be totally involved in each moment, energetically, joyfully, and sometimes furiously, dealing with the reality, and letting shadowy imagined possibles pass her by.

She spoke now, with forthright confidence. "It's true about a spice-trade being necessary - or useful, anyway. Windseer was in favour of it, and he should know."

"Yes, but... I've gone and said that Narnia will have spices and things to trade with, though. Right fools we'll look if we can't come up with anything except mint sauce!"

"Nothing wrong with mint sauce!" Edmund grinned - new peas and minted potatoes had been their main meal that day.

"There's plenty," said Susan briskly. "juniper berries... I bet they don't have those! Caraway seed!"

"And there was medicines, too," Lucy offered. "There are lots of plants they use here for healing."

"Yes. And it doesn't even matter if they _do_ already have the stuff we've got, what's important that we can show that we can get along _without_ their trade, that we don't _need_ these other countries. I was thinking today, while Pete was doing the talking, that it's not just trade deals happening."

"How do you mean?"

"Think about it, Ed! Even if they are just merchants, not ambassadors, they're still the first contact we've had outside of Narnia, and how we deal with them will set the tone, more or less, for how things go on when we _do_ get ambassadors."

Edmund frowned, considering. "Then would it be a good idea to stop all visits until we can be sure we're doing it right? I mean, you don't trade without treaties and things, do you? What if we find out later that they had _our_ permission, but not their home governments?"

"The point is, they're here, and we have to deal with them." Peter pressed his lips together, in the way that his siblings already knew meant determination to complete an unpleasant task.

Ed tried once more. "Maybe we should just declare that we won't receive any trade delegations for a time, then."

"Won't help with the ones already here. A ship came in from Galma this afternoon, and those men from the west are still to be seen. So... that's tomorrow morning gone, anyway, I expect. How's about we leave it for now, and take some time for... anything that's not trade?"

And then, to Edmund's protesting scowl: "We'll meet in the morning, the four of us, and Windseer and Tumnus, and see if we can rough out some ground rules. That do for now?"

Edmund's eyes met Susan's and the scowl vanished. "I'll have something in writing by then! And if I don't miss my guess, our thoughtful sister is also making plans!"

"Just might be, Ed. Just might be!"

**o-o-o-o-o**

It was a good morning's work. The main points of a trade policy were sketched out, and a policy for dealing with visits. It was agreed that no further trade delegation would be received until the following spring (the first not-magic spring, as Lucy said) and Ravens were sent to each border crossing and port to spread word of that decision.

Edmund had drawn up tables showing the goods offered so far, of the items which might be desirable; he had already made notes of all information they had gleaned about the countries from which the traders had come. Susan came with plans for a trade fair, to be held for a full week in midsummer, when all future potential traders would be invited to display goods under the watchful walls of Cair Paravel, before any further trade arrangements would be accepted. Narnia's strengths, economically, were scrutinised, and arrangements made to have representatives of the most likely trades and produce brought for further conference, to prepare for the trade fair.

"It's been good," Peter acknowledged at the morning's end. "We should set up regular meetings like this, to think ahead - and get advice, too." He nodded his thanks to the two subject-advisors who had joined them.

"Your Majesty might give thought to reinstating the Councils of old," Windseer responded; then in answer to Peter's enquiring look, "The monarchs were always wont to have a Council, Sire. Narnians of all kinds contributed to it."

"Trees, as well? Naiads?" Lucy asked.

"Not always, Your Majesty, "but always some water-dweller, and some earth-dweller. Centaurs served as earth-dwellers, I know, from time to time."

"To represent all types of Narnians," Edmund commented. "It's a good idea. Peter?"

"Yes. We'll talk further of it, Windseer. Are there records of how it was set up?" The Centaur looked his regret. "Well... we'll look into it. And shall we take a break and deal with the last two lots after lunch?"

The last two delegations, from Galma in the east, and from Telmar in the west - a country whose borders no-one of the Narnian advisors had been able to clearly delineate: "Let's start with the Galman," Edmund suggested. "Once we've finished with him, we'll be able to take our time, and find out a bit more about Telmar."

**o-o-o-o-o**

Hoom and Gul did not move their eyes from the Four when these strange young-seeming rulers re-entered, nor when they were signed to stand back, and it was the Galman who was called to the presence to put his petition. To be able to watch a foregoer was to lie downwind, and much advantage could accrue from being second to speak; without looking at each other, the Telmarine brothers knew that both were satisfied to wait. They stood stolidly, immovably watching, therefore, as the tall Galman strode confidently to stand before the dais.

From where they stood, they could hear that this session began, as had that of the days before, with courteous enquiries about the trader's journey - simple, affable conversation, but Hoom judged that the Four were alert enough to glean from it information as well as pleasantry. Too, the words of the Galman should be stored for Telmarine use. Galma, it seemed, was three days' sailing away -"we'd be quicker sailing once we get trade established again, Your Majesties. We were just in the first ship we could find willing to make the voyage west, it being summer, and the main of the merchant fleet off away east to the Seven Islands... "

Much of the conversation which followed was too low to catch, but information came in more than speech. Gul noted the Galman's constant covert glancing at Tumnus and Windseer; so Fauns and Centaurs were unknown on Galma, then? How this could be useful he would leave to Hoom to define, but it was good to know more about the world that Telmar was just beginning to be able to re-enter, at any rate. And there was a tale, too, told by the Galman's garb and kit; if it had not the soft brightness of the haughty Calormene merchant's, clearly Galma was solid in less showy wealth, and richer far than the impoverished riddle that was witch-defeating Narnia. Galma wore not silk, but still, the signs of wealth were there; his boots and his belt were finely-tooled and shining leather, not rough-hide.

And now the Galman had summoned from behind a servant to bring for presentation some gift to the Four. Hoom sidled a glance at it as it passed - a wooden contrivance of some sort, of dark fine-grained wood, and inlaid with some stone, it seemed, which shone in gentle colour, like clouds at full-moon rising. A gift which seemed to please the Four greatly; Hoom watched closely; they seemed to be looking delightedly while the trader showed off how it opened and folded, and refolded in a new appearance. Some device for travelling , or to travel with, it seemed, for: "We have heard in far Galma of your great and triumphal progress around your new dominions."

_Well, so they had in Telmar! And this Galman gift may seem to please them, but Telmar's gift - though carried in rough-tanned hide, not dainty leather! - was surely of much greater value._

Now the High King moved the conversation on to matters of trade. Hoom noted that he spoke more clearly now; to be heard by the whole Hall. It was a good sign; nothing was to be agreed behind the hand, it seemed.

"We see clearly that Galma produces items of great beauty and delicacy; was it such as this that you thought to bring to Narnia as merchandise, Trader?"

The Galman's voice rang with buoyant assurance. "My business here would be to buy, not to sell, Majesty!"

"You are well-informed, then, of what Narnia has to offer Galma," the king responded coolly.

Hoom marked that he did not stoop to ask what commodity could have brought a merchant so far on the chance of spending, not earning; this king kept the extent of his knowledge, if indeed he knew, as his own secret.

"Ah, Majesty! the soft warmth of not just our Duke's courtiers but of many of the wealthiest Tarkaans in Calormen, on cold desert nights, has come from Narnia. It has been a luxury trade, and one which I hope may resume with Your Majesties' approval and blessing."

"Approval and blessing will need a more precisely-worded request, however."

That there were sheep-runs on the high plains of Narnia as there were in Telmar, Hoom knew, but would a merchant come so far, and bring a choice gift purely to dicker about a trade in wool?

Now the king leant forward, and fixed the merchant with a sharp smile.

"Come, sir! Name precisely what it is you wish; and," he seemed to Hoom to pounce with a sudden leap. "what of those other ships 'away east to the Seven Islands'? _Do you come on behalf of yourself alone, or of other merchants from Galma?_ "

The trader's broad back jerked, and his warm-hued neck flushed a little warmer. "Yes, you're.. you're right. The others don't know I'm here. But, Majesty," the words came now in an eager rush, "they've had a grip on the trade all these years, and surely now, with a new reign, it is a good time to open it up again?"

High King Peter kept a blandly encouraging silence, and the trader persisted: "If you were thinking of granting a monopoly again..."

"Mmmmm...? a monopoly...?"

"Your Majesty! I could arrange it all! The hunting, the skinning...the tanning. The best prices... bear-pelts, the ermines, beaver-skins... " He was speaking now very rapidly; his voice even trembled with the excitement of his greed, his rapacity... He seemed to gasp as he spoke, with his avidity. But then something... a rigidity in the room, perhaps, penetrated his obliviousness. His speech died on his lips.

There was a terrible silence.

The Four, enthroned - no, the youngest had risen, and stood gripping, _hard_ \- Hoom saw that her knuckles were bone-white - the shoulder of the High King. The eyes of the other Queen were boring into the Galman merchant, skewering him, inescapably; exposed, analysed and utterly rejected. The younger King was breathing rapidly, his lips pressed together as if on some deathly sickness.

The High King Peter spoke, stiffly, and very coldly. He seemed to Hoom suddenly much older than he had seemed minutes earlier; his voice had lost its lightness, and the words ground out of him like two stones grinding together.

"We - do - not - _trade_ in the bodies - the _skins_ \- of our subjects, and our Cousins. Leave."

Hoom saw that the Galman hesitated, seemingly on the verge of protest, but the High King bore him down, inexorably.

"Take - your - _filthy_ , blood-stained hands - out of our court, and _out_ of our kingdom."

"He is a murderer," came in a high, tightly-controlled whisper from the younger Queen. "He asked our approval..."

The High King raised one hand and put it on hers, but did not speak to her, still addressing himself to the trader. "Had you not revealed that you yourself have not so traded in this country - that _others_ have "had a grip on the trade", very assuredly you would now be on trial for murder of our Cousins and well-beloved subjects. Get you gone, and make it known to all Galma, and all lands - _this vile traffic is no more_. Guards!"

Two long, rangy forms which had lain unnoticed by the door rose now - Hoom stiffened, startled - and padded softly closer.

"Take them to their ship and see them sail before one more hour has passed."

The guards closed in, with low, deep growling. The Galman gasped. "Your Majesty! We need to provision... to take on water..."

" _Get - you - gone._ "

The guards snarled with sudden terrifying savagery, and the Galman shrank back, and turned and scuttered from the Hall.

The High King watched with hard eyes, then spoke, sharply and decisively.

"We will... prorogue this reception. Men of Telmar! Be with us in two hours' time. My Royal Sisters, Brother..." He stood, and left and right they stood with him, all very tightly controlling, it seemed, whatever it was that had moved them. As one, they nodded acknowledgement to the courtesies of the Hall, and then all Four left together.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The door was shut and they were alone, and in an instant Lucy was against Peter's chest, the strong felted wool of his jerkin muffling the first sounds of her anguish; he cradled the back of her head with one hand, the other arm wrapped close around her, in helpless attempt at comfort. Susan swung around and caught at Edmund, and pulled them all close together, one tight huddle of sorrow at this knowledge of what Narnia had endured.

It was many minutes before Lucy's sobbing quietened, before they all began to breathe a little more normally, and the tightness of their clinging began to break apart. Still keeping her face pressed against her brother's chest, Lucy spoke, in half-choked horror. "He said _beav_..." She could not even say it. "He w-wanted to... he asked our _blessing_..."

"It's okay, Lu" Susan reached out one hand to caress her sister's head, sweeping the hair back a little from the averted face. "It doesn't mean anything at all, to _bless_ something so horrible. He was just speaking nonsense words to say that..."

Peter looked at her. "You weren't as surprised as the rest of us?"

She frowned, and mouthed, rather than spoke, her reply. "Tell you later. Something Mrs Beaver said."

He nodded a troubled acquiescence, and switched his attention to Lucy.

"Come on, Lu. Look up! It's all finished now and we will never let that happen again."

"No." She burrowed in a little more, then risked one glance up at him. "You were... _scary_!"

"I was a bit out of it, lost control a bit ... I wouldn't want to scare you, Lu..."

"You were," interrupted Edmund, with fierce deliberation, " _bloody magnificent._ "

"Steady up, Ed!"

"No - Lucy and I can stand to hear that much 'bad language'!" Susan looked at the High King, measuringly. "And furthermore... " she let a loving, very knowing and amused sister's smile complete her sentence: _he's right_.

The rest of the two hours' break went in rest-and-repair. Faces washed. A brew of hot lemon-and-honey, breathing in the fumes, and then slow sipping, slowly coming back to equanimity.

Consultation with Tumnus, and learning of the terrible devastation among the Beavers of Narnia (" _and that's why they're pretty much on their own, now. I think it's part of why they put everything they had at risk to protect you. It was as if they had another chance to save their own..._ "). From Windseer, news of how so many Beasts had fled to the west or the north, as Humans had fled east over the sea, or south to Archenland.

"We will call them back," said Lucy.

"We need to be sure of them, first," said Edmund.

And then a quiet time with just four again, together.

"Like a Lioness, little sister? A Queen?"

"Yes. I can do it."

"Everyone? Aslan's given it to us to do, so..."

"So we do it. We get it, Pete. Let's go."

And then out again.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Let the men of Telmar approach."

No sign remained of the storm of two hours earlier. The four monarchs set their eyes with studied calm on the approaching Telmarines, rough men, and roughly accoutred , but plainly doing their best to adjust to the ways of the Narnian court. The leader seemed ill-at-ease with the ordinary courtesies of meeting, and awkwardly moved to more direct matters.

"Ahhh... We've brought a ..a gift, Your Highness...es. It's...very valuable."

"We welcome you for yourself, and for your people's willingness to engage with ours," said Peter. "We do not look for gifts."

"It's very valuable," the man repeated. He kept a close grip on the small object he held in his hands - not two handspans long, Peter gauged, and barely one wide - perhaps a palmwidth high, or a little more. The man was not a seasoned or graceful negotiator; he held it as if it would be given as a prize - or as a bribe. Peter consciously crushed the irritation he felt, set himself to hear patiently what the man had to say.

"We were wanting... it's important for Telmar to be able to travel through Narnia. The Troubles were hard on us as well as on Narnia, Your... Highnesses."

Peter leaned forward encouragingly. The man stumbled on.

"We ...it's a hard road to try to get over the southern mountains to Calormen. We... _Narnia_ cuts us off from the coast!" He sounded as if he resented the very shape of the land - well, there was nothing to be done about that!

"I mean, that's... We..." He straightened himself, and came to the heart of his petition - evidently a speech got by rote. "We, Men of Telmar, rejoice with you that the frozen roads and rivers are open again. We request safe passage through your land and by your rivers to your ports, for our trading."

Well, so he had made his speech. Peter moved to draw out further information from the man. "And what goods would you take to trade, Master Merchant?" The man seemed to take a desperate resolution. He stepped forward, and went down on one knee, offering with both hands to Peter the thing that he had carried, and till this moment had held tight.

"If we can get permission just to cross..." he began, then rethought. "This is a free gift to you, Your Majesty."

 _But you hope very much that it will have all the effect of a bribe_ , Peter thought wearily. However, the man's clumsiness should sway the decision no more than the Calormene's suavity.

"Our decision does not rest on gifts made," he stated, dispassionately. "You will be very welcome to leave it or to take it, as you will." Then, as the man seemed a little disheartened, "well, let us see what Telmar has brought to show to us."

The man's eyes flashed. He quickly undid the wrappings around the object and thrust it towards the king.

It was a small casket, standing on a low silver filigree base, and with softly gleaming silver cornerpieces encasing sides of old, carved, ivory and finely-stippled silver-grey leather, and a gently curved top - a breath-takingly beautiful work of the maker's art. It bespoke - and, unconsciously, Peter reached out towards it, took it - it bespoke _love_ , as well as art, in the making. It was not new, clearly a treasure of many years, perhaps centuries.

Peter turned it in his hands, mesmerised. _Nothing_ in the outward appearance of these men had hinted at such delicacy, or appreciation of beauty. He was conscious of Susan at his side, leaning forward, and shifted, holding the casket so that she could see it more closely; she, of them all, would be gladdened by its perfect artistry.

There was a silence; he looked sideways to her, and their eyes met in agreement, smiling, and a little regretful. The Witch had left very little of such made loveliness in Narnia. But...

"This gift..." Queen Susan spoke, slowly, and very gently. "... it is a great treasure of your people?"

Peter smiled again at her gentleness; she loved the casket, but her deep feeling for others and their needs over-rode that. He spoke, to make more plain what she had hinted. "We could not take from Telmar something which we see well is a very precious heritage."

There was a small noise from behind the throne, a shifting of hoofs, a Centaur-tail swishing. "That's Narnian Dwarf work!" Windseer breathed. "The silversmiths of the west..."

"No. No..." the man was answering Susan's question, his eyes flicking anxiously from her to the High King. "It's Narnian. It's very old. That's ivory from Narnian elephants."

"Narnian elephants?" Susan paused; her hand fluttered above the casket.

"Narnian Elephants?" Lucy's voice was lit by an incredulous joy. "I didn't know there were _Elephants_ in Narnia!"

"There are none," Windseer's low voice came from behind. "There are no Elephants in Narnia. Do you not think, Majesties, that if there were such they would have assembled to do honour to your coronation, to honour Aslan?"

"But... not now, maybe, but it might be like you said, that they left Narnia because of the Winter?" Lucy eagerly. "We could tell them it's over, and call them back to us!"

"Your Majesty," the Centaur spoke warningly; clearly he felt that this was not a discussion to have in open assembly. "There have been old legends and tales, but alas, I have no knowledge that such creatures ever did exist in Narnia, or not as thinking, talking Beasts."

"If I may speak..." Tumnus' light rapid voice, a little anxious, a little hopeful.

"Speak, Tumnus."

"There was..." Mr Tumnus' eyes were squeezed shut, and his hands were pressed against each side of his head. "There was an old rhyme... my father used to gather folklore, that sort of thing. He was a scholar really... he used to try to get me to remember all sorts of old rhymes..."

They waited, eyes fixed on him as he rocked to and fro, murmuring scattered phrases.

"Six sages, six in kind... no. That can't be right, should be seven... 'Sharp-eyed Ravens...' I know they were in it... Last... Lumbers... Yes! Yes... listen, majesties! It's what we were talking about, the Council!"

He leapt up, and stood erect, with his hands clasped behind his back, and for a moment they saw him as the little faun he had once been, reciting for his long-gone father:

_"Lumbers large, the last to council,_

_"Elephant of well-won wisdom_

_"Came to join at Aslan's calling..."_

"That's from the Song of the First Council! There was an _Elephant_ on the First Council, Majesties. And that proves it! The Narnian Elephants _were_ Talking Elephants!"

"Thank you, Mr Tumnus." Peter glanced across at Lucy. Her eyes were shining, and her lips were parted in breathless excitement. He was swept by relief and gladness; whatever the current reality of the elephants, the thought of them had at least helped her past the anguish of the day's dealings. Well, for her sake, and to assuage Windseer's unease...

"Sir Trader, this matter concerns our people and must now be dealt with privately. Take your rest tonight, and know both your gift and your visit are welcome. We will talk more of these trade routes with you tomorrow."

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**


	2. Views east and west

As mentioned earlier, this story owes a lot to Avia Tantella Scott's 'What the Elephants Forgot' (www.fanfiction.net/ s/6373192/1/What-the-Elephants-Forgot) . And owes much to several other writers, for inspiration and wise advice, and of course to C.S. Lewis, for Narnia. )

**o-o-o-o-o**

**The knowledge of the evil** done to the Beavers of Narnia was still with them; he would still find Susan at some quiet minute and ask her exactly what she had learned from Mrs Beaver, and between they would try to find some way to... there must be some way to heal it, that evil. And it was not just the Beavers, but others as well, and Edmund's eyes still had the shadow of that dark look, that heart-wrenching wariness, and Lucy - she would still circle back to the sorrow, he knew, when she was able to face it.

But right now, right now the excitement of thinking that maybe, maybe some Narnians had escaped the terror and could be called back, and especially the thrill that it was Elephants... right now that had filled all their minds to the exclusion of everything else.

Peter shook himself a little, grinned one more time at his excited little sister, ardently calling on Tumnus to "think!" about the old rhymes and stories, and turned with more serious face to speak quietly with Windseer, alone.

"Your Majesty?"

"There are wonderful possibilities, Windseer, but I don't want to forget the business of the day."

"The trade negotiations?"

"Yes. We ended the meeting too soon, with the Telmarines; I am thinking that they will have believed that we had agreed to this trade routes business."

"Your Majesty wishes otherwise?"

"No... it's more that I don't like feeling that we let the whole business slip away because we got excited."

"As I recall, you made no decision."

"I accepted his gift. I think he might have thought it was a ... price."

"All the more reason to go back to negotiations." Susan's cool voice was unexpectedly close at his right hand. "We have to make it utterly clear that no-one can influence our policies that way."

"And I'd like to learn more from them about Telmar itself, too," Edmund struck in, looking up from his attempt to gather together Tumnus' scraps of rhyme into written form. "We know hardly anything."

What on earth was the _use_ of being High King, Peter wondered, if everyone always chimed in when he was trying to think? Though Su had always been good at organising things; he turned to her, resignedly.

"So what do _you_ think, then, about them coming through to trade? Is there any reason we shouldn't agree?"

"Well, I think it's probably bad policy to just give people we don't know free right to go through the land whenever they like."

"On the other hand," Ed was frowning a little, thinking ahead, "if there _are_ Elephants out there somewhere, we might have to go through _their_ territory to get to them."

"Oh!" Lucy's attention had been caught by the word. "Are we going to find the Elephants?"

"Not exactly." He gave up any idea of private consultation. "Our royal brother here was saying that when we're settling this trade route business with the Telmarines, we might want to bargain to travel through Telmar ourselves, to see what we can find out."

"If I may, Your Majesties...?"

"Tumnus?"

"It might be wiser to send Birds to search for them, or for word of their passing."

"Good thinking! And not just Elephants, but any other Beasts which have fled to the west, or the North. We must begin a calling back of our people."

"Yes! It's _horrible_ if they're still be out there, frightened. We should send out Birds, _now_!"

"Or tomorrow, anyway, Impatience! Eagles, Windseer? They would need to fly high."

"Or Ravens, Majesty. Eagles have a commanding presence, and the Elephants, if such there be, may not take kindly to what would seem like a command to return. Ravens speak directly and well, and moreover are wise in diplomacy."

"By Raven then. Does that set your mind at rest, Lucy?"

"Thank you!"

"It'll put us in a better negotiating position, too, with the Telmarines," Susan said thoughtfully, "if we don't absolutely have to ask for permission to go over their land. Means they're the ones who're asking, and we've got a free hand."

"We still should try to get that, though, Pete. We don't know what we might need to do, even if the Birds can let us know what the situation is."

"Yes," Susan agreed, "but make it just a casual side-thing. Like maybe you could mention it, Ed, as if it's a whim."

"Oh, you're _good_ at this!" His spirits lifted; he might be High King, but to have all their voices part of the planning felt _good_ now. "So... to sum up: tomorrow we negotiate with the Telmarines for a single trial trade mission through Narnia to our wharves in time for your trade fair - do we need to worry about what they're trading before then, do you think? - plus reciprocal private travelling rights for us in Telmar... for a year?"

"For a year initially, perhaps."

"Good. A return of lost Beasts and Men could bring us so _much_... we lost so _much_ because of the Witch and the Winter. Not just the people, but their skills, and their knowledge. Which reminds me: this Council, Windseer?"

"Majesty, not all servants can give all service, and of this history I know little. I think you will find more from Master Tumnus' rhymes than from me."

"Tumnus? Your rhyme spoke of seven sages?"

"Seven sages, six in kind," murmured Tumnus, automatically.

The king smiled. "Right... take time to remember the rest of it; I think we need to appoint a Council, as well as a Harbourmaster, and I want to do it right. Who was appointed Harbourmaster, by the bye?"

"Koreek, Your Majesty. He'll be the speaker, and the one the seamen deal with, but his people will also herd the ships, and watch the wharves."

"Oh, _brilliant_ appointment, Tumnus! I can just see the way he'll watch the ships coming in, out there where he suns himself on that big rock halfway out. And with the other seals scouting, we'll always have advance notice of who's coming! Brilliant! _Nobody_ argues on a wharf with three hundred pounds of solid muscle! Oh, we'll get there! Koreek on the wharves, and the trade getting sorted, and our people returning, and Narnia being rebuilt... We _are_ getting there!"

Peter's sudden exultation lifted all of them; when the High King himself laughed with joy at their progress, who could do other?

**o-o-o-o-o**

The call came early in the morning, before the sun had risen; the chosen Ravens fluttered and hopped about the walls of the western parapet walk, nervous, excited and eager to begin the flight. Even when the High King stepped forward to speak to them, there was a fluffing and a shuffling of wings and turning of heads, a constant flickering of all their bright black eyes; it was movement, though, which rather attested to the razor-sharp alertness of their minds than to any inattention to the King's solemn words.

"Well-met here, Cousins. Well-met, Crimtwing, Pryclaw, Sallowpad! Well-met Quick-in-all, Sootfeather, Diamond, and Brightbeak. This is a great day for the rebuilding of Narnia; it is the Lion's own business, I believe, which is laid on you today.

"I charge you, good Ravens, to fly to the west, and to the north of west, and to the south of west, for three days and three nights, in the search for our lost people, as we sent word to you last night. From the air, it is our Elephants that you will find easiest to see, if anything can be easy to see above the Great Cliff, but we charge you to take the message of return to all our people, wheresoever you find them.

"Fly now, as our hopes fly with you. We will look for you here, from the dawn of the fourth day, and Aslan's breath be under your wings."

Queen Susan spoke more simply, looking her love for them all: "It is your Cousins no less than mine you seek, dear friends. Fly well!". King Edmund added, also, "Fly well, and safely, Cousins." Queen Lucy looked up at the seven shapes, wings spread wide now in farewell bow, Raven-style. "And especially... _all_ of them... but _especially_ the Elephants."

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!" came in return to each, in seven harsh Raven voices, and then a mighty swooping and beating of wings and seven black shapes clove the air and spread away, fanning up and out, dwindling smaller and smaller yet, against the lightening sky, and they were gone.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The call came late in the morning - the sun was already up. Hoom had been hunkered down at Gul's side, not talking, since there was nothing they had to say that was not already known to both. They had made good progress yesterday; the kings had taken the gift, and honour should bind them now. Of the day to come - _what is not seen is not known_ , and so there was no point to talking of it. But these people, who had come from a far place and had made the Winter melt away, and had taken Narnia for their own - Hoom was glad Gul was with him, to have his years of wisdom, in such an unchancy place, dealing with powers like these.

For as long as Hoom had lived - as long as his father's father had lived - there had been winter in Narnia, and the invader had ruled over a frozen, broken land, so that men looked down from their own land, and saw only deadness, with scattered black figures against the snow, singly or in chained lines, crouching and inching their way to live or die. Then times had been hard for Telmar, too, but at least there were the herds, and the great inexhaustible forests; then Telmar had looked at dead Narnia and known that survival and safety lay in staying under their own stars in their own land.

Now, though... _now_ the stranger kings had come, and had changed Narnia in an instant into a green, pleasant, fruitful land, and now it seemed possible that Telmarines could again travel safely through the lowlands to the sea's edge, and bargain there as Telmarines once had done, and survival would give way to prosperity again. But who these strangers were, and what their powers and ambitions were - these things were not yet seen.

They were not true lowlanders. The Goat-foot who had shown them to the rough guest quartering, close to the barracks of the fighters, had chattered about that. They had come from a land of eternal summer, he had said - from over the ill-omened sea, therefore, since the sun comes from there. Had come from away east, and had simply _moved in_ and dissolved the enchantment, and had taken the land of the Narnians for their own? _What is not seen is not known_ , but these were unchancy beings.

And now it was the Goat-foot again, and they were summoned to the presence of the kings. Steady, sturdy, showing as little as they could of their thoughts, Hoom and Gul walked towards the Great Hall.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Welcome again, men of Telmar." It was the oldest king. "Our talk yesterday was broken off somewhat sharply. The word you brought, that there had been Elephants in Narnia in the past, called for conference."

Hoom waited. The king's sister smiled slightly and spoke. "And still calls for such. Master Hoom, what can you tell us of Narnian Elephants?"

 _"What is not seen is not known_ , Highness."

"Do you mean you have not seen Elephants?"

Hoom tensed. They had learned, he and Gul, from watching the Galman's dismissal, for daring to want to trade in hides of Narnian beasts, how these incoming rulers reached to claim whatever came near to their hand, beasts and hide and all.

"I have seen only _Telmar_ 's elephants."

All Four now seemed intent, or even - Hoom's glance skimmed the row of thrones - agitated. The High King raised one hand slightly - it seemed to be a signal that only he was to speak.

"These Elephants in Telmar. Tell us of them."

Hoom felt Gul shift warily beside him, and understood. Gathering his courage, he moved to turn the talk back the way he would have it go.

"Highness, we have come here to ask if men of Telmar may walk through your land. It seems to me now that you would walk through _my_ land in words, but you will give no word to our main business here."

The High King seemed startled, and paused a moment to think.

"You say truly. Understand that we are not minded to make an agreement for all time here today, but only to discuss the terms of a first trade trip, and that to be next summer, in the time of our great trade fair."

"We need not agree for all time," Hoom conceded.

"Also, Hoom, there is this. You have come here as a trader, but you speak of 'my land', as if you were a king. What authority have you to speak for Telmar? Has the King of Telmar sent you here?"

"The men of Telmar have no king; they have sent me here not as a trader, but as speaker, to ask that the roads be opened again to us for trade freely. I speak for them."

"Very well. We offer you this: that Telmarines may come one time next year to trade as you will, to the wharves for our great fair at midsummer, when other traders will come; we will likewise walk during that year through your land, to see for ourselves the elephants there."

" _One_ visit for men of Telmar, who must come to one place only, and Narnia asks leave to walk for a year, freely, as elephants roam?" He let his scornful smile give the negative.

The kings exchanged a glance. The elder king spoke. "We would know before we came to your land where we would go, and travel only to that place, though stopping as need be on the way. If the Elephants are Narnian, we will know where to find them."

And so their reaching began!

"Highness, they are not Narnian!"

He felt himself letting anger rule his voice, and stopped and began again. "Consider, Highnesses. The Great Cliff lies between these lowlands and the Men of Telmar. I think Narnian Elephants could not climb the narrow ways that we use; even for Men it can be hard to come those ways."

"But _what is not seen is not known_ ," broke in the younger king, mockingly. "You may know trade matters, but if you have not seen Narnian Elephants, how can you say that they could not climb? Come for your one visit, and maybe I will travel back with you Telmarines and try for myself these narrow ways you speak of."

A mistake. A mistake to have mentioned those defiles and hidden passages. If this king travelled in his company and learned the ways into Telmar...

But... he bent his head to think over what was known... no army could come unseen, or come those ways; no large force could threaten Telmar, therefore, and if men came singly, they could not defeat the forest.

"So let it be, Highness! Your brother has said, a visit for a visit. Let there be, as your brother has said, a first trading trip this year by men of Telmar, to trade as we will, and other trading trips thereafter as we may agree, and a single visit to walk our land _with us_ in return. So you have offered, and so I accept."

The younger king spoke very quick in reply. "To _first_ travel the narrow ways in such company, but not a single visit. I require free right of travel through that year, to find the Elephants!"

Hoom felt the anger begin to rise in him. They reached, and they would take what they could. "

You have offered to travel in Telmarine company. _So you offered, and so I accepted_. You may not travel alone in Telmar."

The elder king interposed. "If we allow you to trade through Narnia..."

" _If_!" Hoom felt Gul stir at his side, and tensed himself for whatever might come. "Do you make a bargain, and then talk of _if_?"

The two kings likewise tensed, and behind, Hoom could hear a harsh animal exhalation. No-one spoke.

The moment was broken by a soft voice, addressing neither the kings nor Hoom. It was the king's sister. "Master Tumnus, please bring for us cool drink. These talks grow somewhat... heated." She smiled at Hoom, as if she and he shared a joke between them. He did not smile back, certainly he had not smiled back, but maybe she saw something of the easing of his anger in his face; her smile grew warmer, and still a little mischievous, still as if there was a joke in the air between the two of them, though her next words were addressed to the High King.

"King and Brother, let us talk of easier things. These journeys _will_ be made, eventually. Let us talk of the land, or the goods to be traded, or any quiet matter."

The High King nodded, and, as the beakers of cool minted water were brought and passed, resumed in quieter vein.

"My royal sister speaks wisely. Let us talk not of _if_ , but of _how_ these journeys shall be made. Telmar we know is to the west, and to the west, above the Great Cliff, we think is forest. Is this your land? "

Hoom considered how much to tell these people, who demanded and demanded and still did not give certainty. But if the trade was to be extended for more than one journey it was as well to speak softly, and move gently; maybe it was that she saw that they shared that knowledge which had led the king's sister to smile at him.

"Yes, Lord. We are people of the High Lands."

"And how far does your land go, to the west, or the south or the north?"

Hoom shook his head. "We are free men, not shut in boxes, as lowland countries are. We move as we need."

The younger king raised his eyebrows. "So you do not build lasting cities? You do not farm? How do you live? How can you trade?"

He felt a quick spark of resentment. These people despised Telmar as poor, but they were no wealthier, despite their great castle; had they not seized eagerly on the treasure he had brought, as one poor remnant of all that had once been?

"We have the forest, and our herds, goats and sheep. We live well."

"Your pardon, Hoom," said the High King, and again Hoom felt, unwillingly, a little easing of his anger, that this man of power should ask his pardon, "my royal brother Edmund did not wish to offend. But living well does not mean great matter to trade. It may be that you have seeds or fruit of virtue, as you saw the Calormene boast two days back?"

Well, such they had, but that was a matter for the wisemother, not for strangers or for trade. And - Hoom made a quick judgement - it was as well to be clear now, before a shipment was in danger of seizure, what trade came from Telmar.

"Lord, we move in a hard country indeed, nevertheless it has its goods of value. Our gift to you yesterday was Narnian work, and Narnian materials, but from forgotten times, when these eastern lands had elephant herds. But more latterly, only the elephants of the west survived; therefore, if any desired this material, in my grandfather's grandfather's time, they traded with the west for it, and from that trade came much that was good to Telmar. Therefore, we would renew the trade which was blocked by the Troubles."

"Ivory?" the king called Edmund asked, very quickly.

"Yes, Lord." Hoom watched the king narrowly.

"From _Telmarine_ elephants, which grow and live and die in Telmarine lands."

It was not the king, but the younger sister who spoke. "Peter!... _Peter_... if they are _Narnians_!"

"Lord...they are not Narnian!" Once again, he heard anger in his voice, and fought to control it. Calm ways are best to move the herd, and if these kings of Narnia were to be herded the path Telmar chose, then quiet ways were best for now. "Ours are mere dumb beasts, wandering the forests and hills of Telmar."

"The elephants in Telmar do not speak?"

"Lord, for more than twenty years I have lived beside the Dapplerun River, where the elephant pulled the ferry-rope back and forth through the flood, and never did that elephant speak. And I have seen many other elephants in Telmar, great bulls and little calves, but never have I heard these speak."

He saw doubt on the faces of the king's sister, and of the younger king, and he continued, still more calmly and clearly, to convince, "Do you not have here, as my brother and I saw well, stabled close to where we have slept these last nights, both Horses that think and speak as men, and horses which are mere dumb beasts? Therefore may it not have been the same, once, with these other beasts? Truly, I have not seen and do not know what once was in this land, but in my own land, I know this, I have never heard the elephants speak, nor seen them think or feel as Men."

" _Peter_!" in an urgent whisper.

"I must consider this matter. If these elephants are Narnian..."

"Lord," Hoom spoke very softly, to be clear, but not to startle, "your word is given already, that we may journey through your land to trade at midsummer _what we will_ , and that thereafter you may travel back with us, _in our company of Telmarines_ to look in what place you think to find Narnian elephants. The bargain is made and _there is no more need for talk_."

And now the High King saw that he was trapped in his own words and his brother's. Hoom braced in case he should thrash and storm to be free, as the great bull elephants did, but the king did not.

Instead, his face stilled, and there came over it the hardness and the menace which had been on it when he spoke to the Galman.

"The bargain for the travel is made, and there is no more need for talk of that. But you will hear me on this: if these elephants, or any among those in Telmar or beyond, _are_ exiled Narnians, then the path _is_ open for them to return. All Narnians returning to our land are free to move as they will through Telmarine land, and _no Telmarine may stop them_. This is _not_ a bargain for trading; this is our decision and our decree."

He stopped, but his face said what remained unspoken; that if Telmar sought to hinder the return, there would be blood-spilling.

How that could be, Hoom did not know, but these had torn the land of Narnia from the hundred-years' invader, and from winter. Not an army - an army could not come unseen and could not climb the Great Cliff - but these were people of power. Still... how could lowland Narnians, or their new-come rulers ever know where the elephants were, in Telmar, to herd them to a return? Decide and decree as they might, it would be a different matter to _do_.

Hoom nodded, as much for Gul as to the king; he could agree to this, and yet no ivory-bearer would leave Telmar. He spoke in unmoved tones, as if indifferent to the High King's word:

"We have heard. The Men of Telmar have heard."

**o-o-o-o-o**

Susan waited until Peter had gone to tell Lucy a story after supper before she broached the subject to Edmund.

"Did you believe them?"

"No. They're a lot cleverer than I thought. I think he was being absolutely accurate, but not necessarily truthful. I think there are Narnian Elephants there, and that he knows it."

Her response was not so much a smile as a grin. "I thought so, too, Ed. This is horribly important business, getting exiles back, but it's sort of fun, too, isn't it, trying to spot the next move and blocking it?"

"I wish you'd blocked _me_! Or Pete, with his _trade as you will_. He's kicking himself now, you know."

"I know. But what's done is done, and no use crying over spilt milk. And we know where we stand, and I will be perfectly _lovely_ to them at the trade fair, and you can be the world's _best_ and most interested traveller when you go to Telmar. And between us we will get all the truth out of them, and get our exiles home again. If the Ravens find them, they can start home straight away. If they have to wait for you to come, well, it's only another ten months or so, and what's that compared to a hundred years? Anyway, we'll win this one, because we know one thing they don't."

"Which is?"

"Well, thanks to you and the royal brother _they_ think we're stupid - and _we_ know we're not!"

Peter stuck his head in at the door while they were still laughing.

"She's about ready to be put to bed, Su." Then, when she jumped up, still smiling, "Hold up a bit!"

She paused, waiting for whatever it was that he was fumbling to say.

"You know I was saying before, that... we're putting together a whole country here, and we need... whatever a country needs. There's so much." He looked at her, anxiously. "Su... we would have been a lot worse off without you today - I flubbed it, and you were really on the ball. Which made me think... would you be our whatever-it's-called in charge of dealing with other countries, especially the face-to-face stuff? I mean, we'd all work together, and get advice wherever we could, but you to be the one who really focusses on that. Would you?"

She looked at him, a little perplexed. "Of course! If the High King asks it of me, of course I will."

Relief flooded across his face. "You are a brick, sister and queen!"

"Foreign Secretary," said Ed. "That's what you call it."

"Whatever I'm called, it's not going to be _that_ ," said Susan, and left.

**o-o-o-o-o**

They had sent seven ravens to the west, northerly, southerly, fanning out across the sky, each sharp-eyed, glossy-feathered, intent on the task. Three came back from the closer settlements of the Telmarines, reporting that there were indeed elephants, that they had spied from the air, shackled, drooping elephants, kept singly beside rivers to haul on ferry-ropes, or two at a time, pacing in endless circles around and around great wooden capstans. We tried, the Ravens reported, but they would not answer us. They are not Elephants. From the great mountains of the south-west came similar reports, but this time of long trains of trudging beasts, hauling down from the more densely timbered hinterland vast logs, two wingspans wide. Crimtwing was uncertain - something about them, she thought, was Beast-like; she had seen before she came close that one of them had caressed and helped another, that they had worked together to ease their slavery. But she had not been able to get a single word from them.

"It is worse than we thought," King Peter said, bleakly. "We thought of exile, but this looks like slavery. It is possible that even if silent, they could be Narnians."

"Could they be silent from shame?" King Edmund asked.

"Why should they be ashamed?" Queen Lucy demanded, furiously, and added, when he did not reply, "We have to send again. And we have to get them out of slavery, if they're Narnians."

"We will do so, little sister," said the High King, looking across her head to his other sister. She did not speak, but her tightened mouth and fierce eyes were sign enough: _not one Narnian will be left enslaved_.

In the end, only one of the messengers, the one who had flown farthest west, came back with certain reports of Elephants. A mighty herd, he reported, and a free herd, led by a Matriarch of great wisdom and compassion, but of great age, such that she feared, as did the whole herd, that she could not make that hard journey.

"And such is their love for her, that they will not leave her, nor the other old Elephants, Majesty. But they will certainly come, they said."

" _'They said'_?" asked King Edmund, sharply.

"Words come easy as breath, as they say, Your Majesty. I'm glad I found the Elephants you sought. But speaking of promises came easy to them I thought."

"More easily than...?"

The Raven clattered his beak, as if in acknowledgement of a hit. Sharp eyes met sharp eyes.

"I see," the King said. "Well, you must fly again to the west, and look for other herds. And this herd you have found - we will send again to them in the spring."

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The mountain escarpment topography of Telmar is from the country Digory saw west of Narnia, in 'The Magician's Nephew':  
> "...beyond the cliff [which marks the western border of Narnia] there are high green hills with forests. And beyond those there are higher ranges that look almost black... a wild country of steep hills and dark forests."  
> I envisage something like Mount Roraima, Conan Doyle's Lost World, but stretching much longer, and with more mountains behind.


	3. The Calormene Ambassador

**The Ivory Merchants**

**Chapter Three: The Calormene Ambassador**

The long summer was ebbing when Tumnus brought word from Koreek that his people had encountered a ship a day out from Cair Paravel; it held, they heard, Tarkaan Neerzat, Ambassador of the Tisroc to the Northern Lands, on his way to establish diplomatic relations with Narnia. He found the High King with Queen Susan, and gave his message to both equally, then stood back, alert to be of assistance to either, in anything. He had not Windseer's great learning, nor the body-strength or skill of the guards and fighters, but what willingness could do, would be done.

The High King had seemed to tense, very slightly. "The first real one, real ambassador," he had said, glancing at the queen.

She was calm, of course.

"We'll manage... if we can manage a whole crew of traders, one after the other, we can manage a single Ambassador!"

"Yes. But that merchant from Calormen... it's pretty clear that they are a lot wealthier than we are. We can't let Narnia look bad, Su."

Her eyes had snapped. "It's not _going_ to!" Then, more softly, "Narnia _can't_ 'look bad'. It just has to look like itself. Leave it to Tumnus and me. We can have the formal reception in the Great Hall, anyway, and I'll manage for a fitting bedchamber for him, I promise. Him or her, I suppose. Any more than one will have to stay on board ship..."

_To Tumnus and me_. The Faun closed his eyes for a moment, to better take in the wonder of that, that he was so trusted. What his willingness could do for these four, so young and weighed with such heavy burdens... He came to attention, glancing from one to the other, waiting for orders.

Her voice had trailed off, and her eyes were abstracted; she was obviously thinking, planning - but the High King was looking at him with an expression of sudden, pleased realisation.

"I know what you are, Tumnus!"

Well, his loyalty was given, boundlessly, but sometimes, there was mild amusement in the service as well. He smiled as he bowed.

"A Faun, Majesty?"

The High King was caught up in his realisation. "I've been wondering what it is that you do, what it's called, when you just make things happen when we've decided what we need, and I've got it! You're a majordomo! Or... would _Lord Chamberlain_ sound better, do you think?"

Well, let them call him as they would; no name or title could be of more value than to know he was so trusted. His amusement was lit by a rush of affection.

"As you please, Majesty."

The Queen came out of her thinking. "Oh, Master Tumnus! Do you think...?"

With great joy - astonished, even at the depth of his feeling - he readied himself to _make things happen._

**o-o-o-o-o**

The first formal meeting was in the Great Hall, where the west wall, shimmering with peacock feathers, and the great vaulted ivory ceiling, and the east door to the open, majestic sea, all together made a background sufficient to impress any visitor, Peter hoped, with the wealth and stateliness of the Narnian court.

Even so, it was a little daunting to see the grandeur of the approach of His Excellency the Tarkaan Neerzat, and even a little daunting to hear the lengthy roll-call of his genealogy: "...second son of Ginrish Tarkaan, the son of Sudaraht Tarkaan, the son of Garaht Tarkaan married to Visareth Tarkheena, the child of Ilsombreh Tisroc, the son of Ardeeb Tisroc..."

Peter was glad to hear that his own formal titles, sounded in Windseer's grave and sonorous tones, had a dignity of their own - High King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands and Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion - and even more glad that he had settled with Tumnus and Susan what additional title she should take to answer to her additional responsibilities. ( _"Yes, the Witch stole it, Your Majesty, but it's a real Narnian title for all that..."; "Well, better than Foreign Secretary, anyway, I suppose."_ ) and most glad of all that the words seemed to be coming from his own lips in a way which matched the importance of the occasion, which carried him through until he could hand over to Susan.

"We are well pleased, Tarkaan, to hear from your master, the Tisroc, and commend you for your welcome and the good comfort of your embassage to our royal sister and queen, the Chatelaine of Cair Paravel and of the Realm, Queen Susan of the Horn."

And then Susan, amazingly transformed from the figure who had whirled through the Cair just a few hours earlier - arranging for a feast, whisking Lucy off for a bath (she was so _muddy_ these days!) fixing entertainments for the coming days, ransacking every one of their own chambers for cushions and curtains and bedding enough to contrive one lavish, opulent bedroom for their guest - had taken up the conversation, and managed almost the whole of the first formal exchanges, with a pomp and dignity which matched the Tarkaan's own, and matched the radiance and splendour of the Great Hall.

The welcoming feast was, by contrast, intended to convey that Narnia had the confidence to enjoy simplicity.

"The Great Hall for our formal meeting, Lord Ambassador," Susan had proclaimed, extending a hand graciously to lead the tall, elegant Tarkaan out into the open air, "and our silken beds for rest, but for convivial feasting, we bid you welcome to Narnia's own grassy land."

And the feast assembled from an outpouring of love and pride from their subjects made it a outdoor banquet greater than anything seen since their coronation feast. Great platters where a wealth of fruits of all seasons tumbled in luscious array, and dishes of savoury roasted vegetables piled high, their own juices mingling with the rich pressed oils of the roasting, and nutty breads hot from the baking, and piquant cheeses and fresh, bright aromatic herbs and the crispest of salads, and dulcet creams and curds and berries, and all the clear waters and juices and meads and wines of Narnia, from the sharp, cold, springwater of Attenon Vale to the rich, dark wine of the Centaurs.

It went well. The formal presentation of the Ambassador's credentials and the feast which had followed had both gone well, though there was palpable tension and discomfit among the Calormenes when they were faced with - and expected to accept as equals - Narnians as disparate in form as a Centaur, a Seal, a Wolf and a Toad. When it was over, Peter escorted his guest to the rooms Susan had designated, and saw the guards - Narnian and Calormene - settled either side of the door, and then trod quietly to the rooms she shared with Lucy. He knocked, very softly, and the door opened instantly.

No need for words; her triumphant grin answered his.

"No worse off, then?"

"Very much better off, I think. Thanks, sister and queen, and Chatelaine."

"Thank me when they've gone. But so far, so good."

**o-o-o-o-o**

The following days were something like a very complex game of chess, combined with a never-ending school sports day, Edmund felt. In the name of entertainment the Ambassador was taken, along with his not inconsiderable entourage, on excursions by boat to Glasswater, and along the Great River, was invited to view - and to participate in - exhibition matches of swordsmanship and archery, and to be onlooker and judge at competitive feats of strength and speed. If there were still signs of his initial tight antagonism, and of visible unease with non-Human Narnians, nevertheless Neerzat Tarkaan retained his calm self-possession, and paid all courtesy, outwardly, to the monarchs and all other Narnians. It was several days of apparent good humour and gradual acquaintanceship, but all the time, it seemed to Edmund - and he conceded that the man was only doing his job - the Ambassador was noting, cataloguing, filing... and despising.

They were all quite certain now, that the spice merchant had reported to the Tisroc's court on the youth of Narnia's rulers, and on their scanty knowledge of the world around them - and on the impoverished state of the Cair Paravel court. Neerzat made frequent reference to the much greater wealth of Calormen, the towers and triumphs of Tashbaan, the might of her navies, the extent of her scholarship. The comparisons grew rather grating as days passed; deliberately so, Edmund felt, to test out how far Narnia could be persuaded to take the position of inferior nation to the great Calormene empire.

By the fourth day the condescension had become quite overt. The Tarkaan had joined them that morning, after breakfast in his own room, to walk under the garden colonnades where the last scanty purple blooms drooped and scattered colour on the pathway. The summer was passing, and Neerzat's sharp eyes seemed to note every thinness in greenery, every emptiness in the grounds before them. As they turned to go back, he looked about him and spoke, smilingly, but his words edged with disdain.

"What pleasure you have here, Queen Susan, in such little gardens! How truly spoke that poet who said that better than all the glories of wealth and scholarship and conquest is the simplicity of a child at play. Narnia does well to rest content in its quiet corner."

An insult, barely disguised. Did this man - or his master, the Tisroc - think they could be stung or cowed by such? Susan was untroubled; Edmund saw a slight smile curving her lips and waited, intrigued, to see how his older sister would deal with this. But into the moment's pause came a tumble of words from his younger sister, forestalling whatever discreet snub Queen Susan had in store.

"I think so, too, Tarkaan Neerzat! That's _wonderful_ , that we both think that! So will you come with _me_ this afternoon, just you and me?"

Susan's eyes flickered, just a little, but smoothly, without hesitation, she followed her younger sister's lead.

"An excellent plan! We shall ensure the comfort of your followers with music and mirth, here, Your Excellency, while my royal sister, I'm sure, will show you joys that only she can show!"

Though the Ambassador had not seem to have _much_ enjoyed the excursion, Edmund thought gleefully, surveying the sorry, salt-encrusted, soggy-shod figure which limped back to the Cair that evening, and disappeared to enjoy the hot bath which the Queen Susan had caused to have ready.

Edmund went looking for his little sister.

"Where did you take him?" he asked, when he found her.

"The rockpool way," she replied, composedly, not looking at him, but picking some of the seaweed from her bare, scratched legs. "and then the caves, like Kirrina showed me. I said I'd show him how we could dam up the streams that run down inside them, to make our own rockpools."

_Sometimes he thought his little sister..._

"And he said that they were the most _dammable_ streams he'd ever seen." She looked up then, her eyes glinting with a vindictive satisfaction.

_... was not nearly as artless as she seemed._

" _We_ fixed him; he won't try to make Susan feel bad again in a hurry."

_oh._

o-o-o-o-o

But when the Ambassador came back down, bathed and scented and returned to his more elegant self, he seemed to hold no grudge. Indeed, that night he felt just a shade more relaxed, a shade more open to possible friendship, even, although he did not stay long from his bed.

"I'm almost sorry he's not sticking around longer. He's not all that much older than us," Edmund pondered when he spoke privately to his brother about it that night. "Early twenties? I'm guessing that for Calormen this is a pretty junior assignment, even if he is descended somewhere along the line from the Great God Tash."

"The more junior he is, the more he's just here, really, to gather information and make it plain to us how feeble we are compared to Calormen. He's not going to be a friend, Ed. A diplomat can't make friends." replied Peter warningly.

"No, I know. It's a pity. He never stops; he's always on the lookout for information. And I think he's convinced that we're just puppet rulers - that there's a _real_ power behind the throne somewhere."

"If he wants to fool himself, let him! It's not our business to bludgeon the truth into him when he's being too clever-clever to see it."

_**o-o-o-o-o** _

_A diplomat can't make friends_. Edmund mulled over those words as he watched the Tarkaan, at luncheon, on the next-to-last day of his visit. The man _had_ relaxed, somewhat. He had even, the day before, set his attendants and guards to demonstrating for his hosts the basic drills of Calormene sword-play, and had sat with the children as the strange curved swords flashed and spun in the air, and had clapped and smiled in what looked, for the first time, like genuine, heartfelt pleasure.

But still - he was always working, always fishing for information, and always believing that children could not be the real rulers of Narnia.

"How fortunate the land which can feast on the fruits of all seasons!" he exclaimed, towards the end of the meal. "Here in a land lately encased in winter ice I see the fruits of all seasons, before me - the fruits of autumn as well as those seasons called the time of gathering. Is it through ongoing incantation that this happy land has left winter to achieve all the seasons at once?"

His tone was light, but his eyes darted quickly from face to face, searchingly.

"Not so. When we shook free of winter, indeed, our other seasons did erupt joyously and confusedly from the land," Susan returned, composedly, "but Windseer, here, tells us that our seasons are even now falling into the more steady rhythm of days, and summer is almost done."

"And Lord Windseer achieves this through his magic, as he defeated Winter?" The Tarkaan continued, blandly, and turned to select a peach.

"Tell us, Windseer," said Peter, nodding to the Centaur.

"Magic? I have none, Lord Ambassador, though some little learning. Narnia has rejoiced in the late victories, and in the visit of Aslan, treading this land, Narnia's own soil; so the land rejoices and the four seasons gave for a little while all their fruits and pleasures to him and to us. But already this long unsettled summertime, as it has seemed, is drawing to a close, and we will have autumn as the rest of the world does, and then winter, and then spring again, our first since the breaking of the winter."

"Sagacity in a counsellor strengthens even the weak," Neerzat observed, with a carefully courteous smile, "and the tribute of years is wisdom to the young. You have a wise teacher, Your Majesties, in Lord Windseer."

"Not a teacher, but a valued counsellor indeed," Peter replied, then, to Edmund's surprise - he guessed it was a spur-of-the-moment decision - he added "he is one of those who sit on the Council of Seven, as is traditional in Narnia."

Neerzat's eyes flashed, and Edmund noted that he breathed more quickly, eagerly. The Centaur was less easily moved; a slight twitch in Windseer's haunch showed his surprise, but his face remained impassive; he gravely inclined his head in silent acknowledgment of the honour.

"Seven, you say, Your Majesty? and the others? I have been remiss in my Embassy not to pay my respects to these Councillors."

A quick, delicious, laugh covered Peter's hesitation. _Susan_. When had she learned to laugh like that?

"Be content, Lord Tarkaan! We will not inflict upon you all the names or the presence of _all_ our court officials in one day or one visit, _especially_ as so few are in the Human shape favoured in Calormen!" the Queen teased, and the Ambassador smiled and gestured a sign of chivalrous surrender to her, apparently accepting that he could not insist on being told the names, and perhaps also abashed at having his unease with Narnian diversity made so public.

Chivalrous surrender or no, though, he continued: "Then if not those names, Majesty, might I learn from him or from you the name of the one who commanded the magic or the armies which broke the power of the Winter?"

"As to the army, I commanded," said Peter shortly. Neerzat Tarkaan looked politely disbelieving. "As to the greater power, it is a tale most heart-held by all of us here, and not to be lightly told as an after-dinner tale. When we have lived longer with you, and learned to know you better, we may share it with you as the most precious gift Narnia has for Calormen."

"Then even as your gracious sister-queen has said, I must be content with what I have learned of Narnia in these few short days," Neerzat Tarkaan replied, "And if we speak of gifts, Your Majesties, I will command to be brought from our ship tomorrow a gift I have brought from Calormen, which I hold as returning to Narnia a great treasure."

He might speak of being content, Edmund thought, but his eyes told that he was far from that - and why leave the gift of "a great treasure" to the very end of an embassy? Peter and the girls, though, looked all happy anticipation, and the luncheon ended in apparent cordiality.

**o-o-o-o-o**

That night began the formal leave-taking. Once again, they were in the Great Hall, and once again they were in full formal regalia, with light armour, and carrying the Gifts, to pay compliment to Neerzat Tarkaan, the son of many Tarkaans, and through him to the great political and economic power which was the Tisroc's empire.

The formal speeches, the proper courtesies, and thereafter, a night of gentle and gracious entertainment - six Fauns played flutes, as arranged by Tumnus, and various small treasures and gifts were displayed to add lustre to the night.

Neerzat Tarkaan seemed to have moved on from finding the guardedness of his hosts irksome. He was complimentary about the pleasures of the night, the soft sea air and the company, conversing easily, if still a trifle patronisingly, about Narnian music and art.

"This piece, for example," he murmured, glancing at the casket so recently and so gladly received back into Narnia. "Very lovely."

"It was a gift from Telmar," replied Susan.

"Indeed? I wonder what odd chain of events led to such an exquisite work being in the hands of savages?" He stooped, and picked up the casket from the low table where it lay, and looked at it keenly, turning it over and scanning it from every angle, then looked at Queen Susan and smiled with true appreciation.

"I congratulate you, Majesty, that such an ancient piece of your much-diminished patrimony has returned to your land. How truly speaks the poet who says that heritage is more than blood, and the gift of our forefathers is the gift of spirit, not body."

"The Tarkaan is well informed, it seems," Edmund cut in, carefully "since he is aware that this is a Narnian work, and not Telmarine."

The Ambassador laughed, apparently in genuine amusement. "Not Telmarine, certainly! But it is only my own eyes which have informed me that the work is Narnian."

"Your Excellence knows old silver?" "Old silver and old ivory, yes. I have collected it, and this is indeed a choice piece. We have such ivory work in Tashbaan, as well, and the chroniclers tell us of the great raids in which Narnian ivory was won from those huge beasts. Ah! how hunting-field became battle-field where the tusks were torn in fury from the great jaws of the dying!" Then, with quick, congratulatory courtesy: "They did not fall easily, King Peter. The tales are still told of the valour of those beasts, how not one stooped to accept the mercy of the Tisroc, but fought on till they died. Even their last words, as the tusks were torn from their jaws, were words of defiance."

"T..torn from their jaws?" Susan exclaimed, and looked quickly to see where Lucy was, a little distance away, close to the Fauns, and deep in chat with a little dark Naiad.

"You ...your people in ancient times _killed_ our Talking Elephants for ivory?"

"Indeed!" He bowed, cheerfully and unselfconsciously. "Ah, they were great days! One day I must ask to hear how they are remembered by Narnian poets! Great hunts, great battles. It is long since Calormen went to war, with beast or man. Though," with a quick, arch smile, "it is not for an Ambassador to regret the rolling drums of war. We must learn to love the little flutes of peace." And he smiled warmly, glancing towards the small group of musicians.

"Your people..." Edmund spoke clearly and calmly. "...they made war on Narnians to take their ivory?"

The Ambassador glanced back, and spoke in simple surprise. "But how else? Narnian ivory was highly prized."

Queen Susan did not speak; Edmund thought that she was now literally breathless in her shock. The Ambassador in turn seemed taken aback; her face clearly showed repulsion. He spoke, beginning in simple puzzlement, and moving in the space of a few words to indignation.

"The Queen must surely know that to get ivory one must kill the beast?"

Then, glancing from face to face of the three rulers near him, "But this is a strange unhappiness you show, Majesties, and a strange manner - to talk of war to the representative of the Tisroc, _may he live forever!_ "

"To hear of the murder of our people, however long ago, must of course move us," the High King observed dispassionately. "And the Tisroc's representative first spoke of old wars here in this hall."

"It is so," replied the Tarkaan sharply. "But it was not I who first spoke the dangerous word _murder_. How truly the poet has said, puissant lord, that he who points one finger of accusation outward, must of necessity point also back at himself. Did not your own country also kill, to take this ivory from _your people_?"

There was a moment's startled silence.

"No?" The brief show of visible anger was masked over now; he lifted his eyebrows in an appearance of delicate enquiry. "Her Majesty's hunting horn..." His quick, clever eyes flicked maliciously to the Gift at Susan's side. "Was it not taken from a Narnian beast, a talking beast, Queen Susan? And how gained, if not through blood? Such trophies of the hunt were as common as trophies of war in the days when those animals roamed closer to the haunts of Men."

"I .. I don't think so. Not from a Narnian Elephant."

"Indeed?" with a weight of scornful disbelief in the word, "It is a very fine piece, older even than this box, and to me it seems certainly Narnian..." he shrugged, and looked away pointedly, as if abandoning a delicate topic. "And this wonderful ceiling - how many tusks it must have taken to furnish forth such a roof! But of course I cannot see at this distance what the source of _that_ ivory could be."

He smiled, in a well-schooled appearance of diplomatic amiability, but Edmund could see that the brief moment of openness - or of any real desire for friendship - had passed.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"So, everyone, tomorrow morning, just be very calm. Leave it entirely to Su and me. All right? Lu?"

"Kill them? They _kill_ them?"

"They did, a long time ago." Edmund interposed. " He was talking about ancient times, and he'd never been in battles with Elephants himself. He didn't realise how we felt about it."

She brushed him aside. "He's as horrible as...I should have said Kirrina could _drown_ him! Peter, we _have_ to get back the Elephants, to keep them safe."

"We're doing it, little sister. The Ravens have been out and back again; we're gradually getting a map together of where they are, where they're held. We'll get them back."

"It's a pity," Edmund said slowly. "He was... when he was talking about the ivory and the battles, for pretty much the first time I felt he was just being himself, showing what he really liked, and I almost liked him... But it had to be that what he liked was something like that."

"He can't even see anything _wrong_ with killing Beasts to make stupid, pretty things. It is exactly the same as the ... _Susan_! Why don't you say something? You can see it?"

"Of course I see it. But it's so late. I... really need to go to bed. Tomorrow he can give us whatever his vile gift is, and he'll go."

"We don't want his horrible gift..."

"Can we leave it? I really, _really_ can't take much more."

And, coming from Susan, that was so unexpected that it stopped all further talk of the Calormene.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Edmund caught up with her in the long corridor.

"Su... Su, wait up."

"What? I mean... what is it?" She kept her face turned away.

"It's... I know what you're thinking, and I don't think it would be that way."

" _What_ am I thinking?" she hissed, darting a quick glance sideways.

"What he said." Edmund looked dogged, angry and concerned, all at once. "Honestly, Su, I know that I wasn't there, and so what would I know? but I'm pretty sure... I'm pretty _sure_ that anything Father Christmas gave you would be all right."

She found that her throat had tightened so much that she could not speak, could hardly swallow. She was... She turned her back on him again, very quickly, clenching her fists.

"Go away, Ed," she managed, and after a moment's hesitating, he did.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The final farewells, the delivery of the parchment scroll of carefully-drafted greetings to the Tisroc, and intimations of a return ambassadorial visit within the year.

It was nearly over. Lucy stood stony-faced and unmoving. Peter was High King, and he had called for the most perfect demeanour at this last leave-taking, and so she choked down her still-seething need to _do_ something - for the long-dead victims of the Tisroc's ivory-gathering wars, for the remaining Elephants in the far west, possibly still in danger, even for the ordinary elephants seen by the ravens, chained, elsewhere in Telmar. All the wrongs and the cruelties churned inside her, and demanded action.

But Peter was High King, and loyalty demanded that she stand stiffly through this last leavetaking, and so she did.

She thought that Susan surely was feeling the same. She was pale, and had dropped her light, teasing manner to the Ambassador. She spoke, and nodded graciously, but - Lucy looked hard at her. It was as if she were just a puppet, not her real self. She was _making_ her body do what it had to, but she seemed not really there at all.

Peter - she admired with her whole heart his amazing strength and steadiness. He was able to do what she could not, and think widely for the whole of Narnia, seeing not only the needs close at hand, but also things more distant, and more distant in time as well. She watched him as he put into the Ambassador's hands their missive, and tried to make her own expression resemble his calm receptivity as the Ambassador in turn began to speak, to explain what was in the three great chests brought down from the ship.

"... For is not a people's greatest treasure its wisdom?" he was saying, "Therefore our Tisroc, may he live forever, trusting that Your Majesties would esteem matters even as he has himself, and knowing that Narnia is fallen so greatly from its former glories..." Lucy hoped her face was as smooth and clear as Peter's. "...has sent to you as the gift most suited to Your Majesties' glorious restoration of your land, books from his own library, books which are from Narnia's own past, books written and printed here in Narnia, and today brought back to you!"

"A noble gift!"

_Edmund._ He shouldn't have spoken. "Leave the speaking to me and Su," Peter had said, and they had all agreed. And after a slap like that, about _fallen from former glories_ \- but he hadn't meant to, she was sure of that - just that he wanted archives so badly.

And they could trust Peter to not be rattled. He was speaking now.

"As my brother says, this is a noble gift and one we value highly, to have returned to us this heritage, the learning and writings of our past. We will send our thanks with you to the Tisroc, our valued fellow-sovereign, for this well-chosen gift."

The Ambassador bowed, but his mouth had tightened at that word "fellow-sovereign". Lucy felt the beginnings of a smile, inside; Neerzat Tarkaan didn't seem to like that the king of a little country could call the Tisroc of a mighty country "fellow-sovereign". _Too bad!_ But the speaking was still going on.

It was the Tarkaan again:- "I will gladly convey your thanks to the Tisroc, may he live forever. These books - since Narnia has also fallen greatly from its days of high learning - are indeed carefully chosen to be most suitable for you, books, that is to say, for _children_."

Neerzat Tarkaan looked now with plain hostility, his eyes sweeping along the line of the four of them, and Lucy felt a little shock, even after the revelations of last night. He looked straight at her, and he was so strange, suddenly, so changed from the man who had floundered with her, that day, in and out of the rockpools, and then blundering through the stream in Kirrina's cave.

" _Simple_ books, Majesties, since it is reported that you have _so very much to learn_."

Lucy felt her mouth drop open, and saw that Ed had lifted his head to reply; Peter seemed too angry to speak, but - _oh, Susan!_ \- Queen Susan's clear voice broke the silence; her icy calm seemed untouched by the barely-disguised insults, and her words were as clear and hard as crystal.

"Well may the Tisroc have valued Narnian books for children, since the wisdom of Narnian children with "much to learn" has proved greater than that of great enchantments, Ambassador, and I think has puzzled you more than a little, this visit. Tell your master the Tisroc that he has only to ask, if he should wish to learn from children like these. We will be glad to teach."

An insult for an insult.

She and he stared at each other, cool and hard. A long moment dragged out, and then Peter re-took control.

"And so your visit comes to an end, Ambassador Neerzat. Lord Windseer and the Lord Chamberlain will escort you to your ship, and see you safe on your way to your master. May the winds prove favourable to you, and your reception in Tashbaan be all that you might hope. Farewell."

And then in utter silence they received, unmoving, the Ambassador's final punctilious bow, and the first formal visit of a foreign Ambassador was over.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of the Great Hall of Cair Paravel is taken from Chapter 18 of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.


	4. A Winter's Tale

**The Ivory Merchants**

**Chapter Four: A Winter's Tale**

The four of them stood alone and watched as Koreek's people towed the ship out from the wharf, watched as her sails rattled down, fanning to catch the wind, watched as she swung out past Koreek's Rock and set away to the south.

"Is she going to Archenland, I wonder?" Peter said. "They handle her very well. We should think about boat-building ourselves."

No-one replied. He shook himself and came back from the huge open window of the Great Hall.

"Well... thoughts, anyone? I've got something to say, myself, but first, let's hear from the rest of you."

"That was really strange," Edmund said. "He knew all week that he had that insult in store, and he was laughing and showing us Calormene sword-play..."

"It wasn't exactly _his_ insult, though, Ed. It's what I was saying to you before - he's just a messenger of the Tisroc."

"Yes. But how weird it would be, to be being one thing and at the same time being another. Because he nearly _could_ have been friends with us."

" _Friends_ with someone who thinks it was great days when they _killed_ Elephants...? You said he talked about it like it was some big heroic..."

"One thing at a time, Lu. Can we stick to that insult-business? Su, you..."

Susan interrupted him. "Can we leave here and go somewhere _quieter_?"

**o-o-o-o-o**

Back in their own private rooms, he began again.

"That books-for-children business. Susan, I thought I could handle anything, but that threw me. You were brilliant, stepping in like that. You were so much a _queen_ \- you just rolled right over his attempt at an insult. Thank you."

She shrugged. She seemed to have retreated back into the quiet dreariness which had been her mood all morning, and was standing beside the table, her eyes fixed on the plaited reed mat on it.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Just tired. I'm glad I could help, though."

"Well, that's what I had to say. That I'm grateful and proud of you, proud of everyone, but especially of you. So... how was it from your end, sister and queen?"

"We did all right. Thanks everyone, for not fussing about all your bedding going. And..." There was a ghost of her usual smile on her lips. "Lu, thanks for sticking up for me that day. I don't think I needed it, but it was just _gorgeous_ to feel you being so furious for me."

Lucy, cross-legged on the floor, elbows on knees, her chin cupped in her hands, replied with her own brilliant smile.

"I loved it! And it served him right! And thank you for letting me - and not treating me like a baby."

Susan's smile strengthened, and warmed. "I don't think I could have stopped you, could I? But I knew I could trust my little sister; after all, she's _not_ a baby, she's a queen!"

"I _am_!" Gladness and delight flashed between them, warmth and trust. _Susan._ _Lucy_.

Peter let the moment pass, and then pulled back attention to the matter in hand.

"Ed? Anything to say about the whole visit?"

"The books. I know I should have kept my mouth shut, and I won't make that mistake again, Pete, but - _three_ chests of books!"

"I'm glad you've got them, but he was trying to use them to insult us, and the whole of Narnia, and we have to ..."

" I couldn't give a tuppenny damn for what he was _trying_ to do - it's what he's _actually_ done... _books_ , Pete! It's like getting back exiled Narnians, to get back some of what's been lost."

"There is that. There's bound to be some useful knowledge in there, especially if he's put in schoolbooks."

" _School_ -books!"

All of her siblings had to laugh at the disgust in Lucy's voice, and it was Susan who suggested they break up the conference for the time being, and turn to becoming a working bee, to remove all traces of the Ambassador's visit, and restore all bedding to its rightful home, so they would all sleep well that night.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The days and weeks following were quiet, subdued. The intense, anxious days of entertaining and the strain of trying so hard to make it all seem effortless had tired them all; the gentle decline of the season towards autumn suited the mood of the Cair.

They found occupation in different places. Peter spent much time with his General - and in discussion with all the more experienced members of and leaders of the little army. There were rumours, it seemed, of unpleasant happenings to the north and north-west, small, but disturbing.

"We must expect to be attacked, eventually" said the General, bluntly. "Our neighbours will test our borders. We need to see every merchant or Ambassador as a military scout, now, Sire."

The High King nodded. "There will be no more merchants until summer. The Calormene Ambassador spoke of a return visit, but nothing is arranged. In any case, they would have to approach by sea, as would Galma, and I think our defences against an attack from the sea are sound, at least through the winter. Could there be any attack by land?"

"Certainly, but I do not look for that before spring at the earliest. Spring and summer, Your Majesty, the times of gathering."

"Of harvest?"

"Of armies. But for now, we can spend our time training, strengthening, surveying."

But even these preparations to repel attack were quiet ones, with long considerations of deployments, supply lines, potential divisions of strength, as well as the inevitable practice of skills and manoeuvres.

Queen Susan and King Edmund took part in some of the consultations, especially to contribute and to glean what knowledge they could of the nations surrounding Narnia, and of Narnia's own resources. ("The Tisroc was too canny to send anything in the way of map-books," Edward lamented, "Nor politics, either.").

Apart from these discussions, and from daily practice, they saw little of each other in their days; while the High King made his preparations, Queen Susan was busy in organising the Cair, and riding out to assess and become familiar with the agricultural capacities of the nation, and King Edmund in patient sorting, reading, cataloguing of the Tisroc's gift.

Lucy alone found much time for pleasure; she seemed to be trying to make the most of the shortening hours of daylight, and slipped away often to play with her new friend, who was, as Edmund had suspected, the little dark being who had been present that night in the Great Hall.

"I invited her, of course," Lucy said in answer to his questions, and to Susan: "She's _Kirrina_ , that's all. Well, her real name's longer, but she says I can call her that."

Her older siblings did not press too hard for a _real name_ ; it was a relief and a gladness to them that there were now only Narnians around them, and that Lucy's deep turmoil and upset at the revelations of their various visitors from elsewhere seemed soothed by her having a playmate, even if it was one who saw her return to the Cair so often with damp, torn clothes, and sundry scratches and bruises.

And for all that their days were spent apart, at evening they would gather in their own sitting-room, a place to meet and to reconnect as just the four of them, if they so chose, though from time to time they invited others. The Beavers came, and brought with them a welcome contribution to the meal - home-smoked salmon, and a dark, rich cakey-textured malt bread, which Mrs Beaver said was an old family recipe. ("And a blessing it is, my dears, to be able to make it again - and with malt from Murmuring Valley barley! Take my advice: you get yourselves a cook who knows what Murmuring Valley malt can do, and you'll do nicely.") Once little bright Kirrina came, but slipped away before nightfall. She had proved a water-creature indeed, if not quite like the Naiads of the Great River. She was little, quick-moving and glinting-eyed; she laughed often, looking sideways at Lucy, who seemed enchanted with her, and joined in the laughter even when the jokes were not clear. Mr Tumnus came, and that evening the convivial tea turned into something closer to a working meeting, as they gradually pieced together the Song of the Council. ("It's not really a _song_ , though is it?" "We _call_ it a song, Majesty.") It seemed that the Seven should include male and female, single and pair-bonded, and those who went by earth and air and water. ("And ones not bounded, too, Majesties." "Not bounded by what?" "Oh... dying, for one thing...")

But most evenings were spent with just the four by themselves; the staff of the Cair - there were more staff, now, mostly as decided and recruited by Susan and the Lord Chamberlain, with sharp, perceptive suggestions from Mrs and Mr Beaver - kept clear of these sessions, to allow them the precious time they needed together.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Autumn wore away, and there began to be a sharpness in the air. Two-thirds of the army was stood down, on the General's advice, in preparation for a return to home quarters over winter. Lucy reported that Kirrina had hinted that she would be less present as playmate in the winter. Edmund had sorted his way through two of the chests and was well into the third.

"I should have kept them to amuse myself with over winter," he commented to Susan one day, having met her, unexpectedly, as he was bringing back an armful of the unsorted manuscripts.

She was standing quietly in a corner of the west corridor, looking down to the practice-grounds. She did not turn around, but leaned her forehead against the cool stone column surrounds of the window.

"Winter. Yes. Lucy's already started to talk about it. She's ...oh Ed... getting excited about maybe Christmas, and maybe seeing Father Christmas again."

He moved suddenly and awkwardly, clutching at the more slippery of his armful of papers, and rough-bound folios. "Oh. Are you... would you be all right about that?"

"If I have to be, I can be. But... I'm dreading it either way."

"Well... me too. I'm not looking forward to meeting him, if he comes, to hearing what he might have to say." A folder slithered out from his grip; he pinned it to the wall with one knee.

She leaned her head lower against the stone. "I'm a _pig_ , Ed - right now I'm glad you didn't get a Gift, because who else could I talk to about this?"

"Su, first up, you're _not_ a pig, and second... those Gifts for you three were... _are_!... a huge honour and ... for respect for you. You are absolutely all right, and there can't be anything wrong with them."

"It's not just about the Gifts, it's _me_." She turned then; her face was very pale and bleakly unhappy. "Ed, I'm as bad as the Telmarines. I _knew_ about ivory, about elephants, but I just didn't _connect_ it. Or I didn't want to know, and so I wouldn't let myself see."

"You're nothing like them - not that we know all that much about them anyway. Look here - if we do see Father Christmas again, just ask him straight. He respects you and he'll tell you." He shifted the armful to one side, and now a few did slither to the floor. "And as far as what Neerzat said, remember: he was just trying his _damnedest_ to get us rattled."

"Oh, Ed! When did you get so wise?"

"I learnt a lot about how bullies work," then, in response to her quick sorrowful glance, "at that school. They'll say anything to get you off-balance."

"Well," she swallowed twice, and paused before she spoke again, "he managed!"

He gave her a quick one-armed hug.

She smiled, briefly, then pulled away.

"You won't tell the others? I don't want to spoil anything for them."

"You know I won't."

**o-o-o-o-o**

There came the great day when Tumnus, having racked his own memory, and badgered every long-memoried beast he knew for additional verses, was able to announce, triumphantly, that he had the complete Song of the Council. It became clear that "not bounded by dying" was meant literally; the first council had been attended by a River-God - by _the_ River-God of the Great River, they imagined - and that every Council for centuries thereafter had held at least one member who was immortal.

"Well, that'll have to wait," said Peter. "We don't know any immortals. At least, I suppose Aslan is, but we could hardly ask him to be on a Council."

"Let be, Your Majesty," said Windseer gravely. "When time is right you will know who and what the immortals are."

"What about this other one, the Oak? Is it always an Oak?"

The Oak of the First Council had been, they were told, not bounded by maleness or femaleness, having both male and female in one being, and that similarly, one not bounded in gender was needed on each Council.

"Surely not so, Majesty. To have one kind, whether Oak or Holly or Centaur or Beaver or Eagle or any other kind, _always_ represented would unbalance the Council, not immediately, but over many years."

"Then we need to think more, to discover who else might be not bounded by maleness or femaleness. I haven't a clue."

"The Council, I believe, and my viewing of the stars leads me to believe, will form gradually as you understand your needs. Have no fear but that Your Majesties will see the Councillors as you need to see them, Majesty."

"I can see right now," Susan remarked. "If it's a bonded pair we're needing, I can't think how we could do better than the Beavers. They have seen so much... and they give such plain, good..." She stopped, and looked down at the table. "To me they meet our needs right now."

"Good for you, Su! I have no idea why we didn't see it before!" said Peter. "Everyone agreed?"

And as winter began to bite the land again, the Beavers were installed on the Council, and though only three members were yet appointed, the first meeting of the first Council since the Winter was held in the newly-cleared room which was designated as the Grand Council Chamber.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"They give such plain, good..." _comfort_. Mrs Beaver - both of them - said little that went beyond everyday and practical matters, but they saw much, and gave much, over the early winter days.

They brought a puzzle of their own, though. The Four received a deputation as the rivers began to freeze, from Naiads, Toads, Marshwiggles, and the Great Turtle, asking for an assurance that the Beavers would not be held to fill the place on the Council reserved for water-dwellers. Shortly after came a deputation from the Bears, Giants, Dryads, and Dwarfs requesting similarly, that the Beavers not be defined as land-dwellers.

"I am _tearing my hair out!_ ", Peter said, as he and Lucy shook the snow off their cloaks, and unstrapped their snowshoes, in the entry to the beaver lodge. "I never imagined there could be _politicking_ about it, not between Narnians. Can you tell us which you are, for good and all?"

"Well, deary, it's always been like that, what with us being betwixt and between, as you might say," said Mrs Beaver comfortably. " _We_ don't mind. _We_ know what we are, and we don't much mind what folk call us."

"You take my advice, and tell'em both, tell the lot of 'em, that you're not calling us one or the other till the whole Council's filled," said Mr Beaver, pointing the stem of his pipe in Peter's direction, "and then they'll see what we are, by what places are left. Are you stopping for tea? It'll be a good'un, and I'd see you back safe to the Cair."

**o-o-o-o-o**

It was late in the afternoon, one day nearly at the shortest day of winter, when Ed cannoned out of the Library, steadied himself by grabbing Lucy, and gasped, "Where's Susan?"

"In the kitchens, with Cook, I think. What's up?"

"Ah... oh... a _story_! I want to tell you all a story! Tonight, just us four, all right?"

"Well, it's all right by me! What about? Is it from your books?"

"Yes! And... _Elephants_! It's about Elephants." He grinned at her wildly, added "Oh, get a good fire going, will you? So we can have it in the warm?" and dashed away, calling for the others.

**o-o-o-o-o**

They were all gathered, comfortably, fed with Cook's good dinner, warmed by Lucy's fire and ready for the tale. Edmund jostled his unwieldy bundle of paper into order, and looked up alertly.

"There's a cover note - do you want that, too?"

"Might as well," said Peter, settling himself down with his head on a folded jacket, as the closest thing to a pillow available. Edmund sat up, with his back against the creamy stone column on one side of the fireplace, and began:

_Faunus to Atramentus. How strange it seems to me, old friend, to be writing to you under such a name, but times are such that even a scholar, such as myself, may feel disquiet at writing to one engaged in making public their research, and hence I conceal both my name and yours. I fear that the Power in the land (better no names) may at any minute crush your noble trade, and ransack your files to see who may be her next Victim._

_This, indeed, is not a scholarly work, being merely a collection of old tales (you know my long interest in the ways of folklore) intended for this generation now, alas, rising to maturity in a Narnia which is not as it was in the Times of which the tales tell. Friend, while this work may seem trivial to you, I beg you to use your utmost powers to see it through your Presses, and into the hands of those for whom I intend it. It seems to me that she is intent on not merely destroying our land, its society, its economy, and all who might possibly sit on its Throne, but even on destroying the very memory of what Narnia once was, to reduce the minds of our people no less than their bodies to being her Slaves and Tools. Therefore, even such a light-seeming Work as this may play, and I trust will play, its part in keeping the knowledge of Narnian heroism alive, and thus inspire even such as my young T. to work for its restoration._

_Friend, if in your estimation, this cannot be, and you dare not endanger your livelihood, and I may say, alas, your very life, then I beg you to see the Book into safe hands elsewhere. The Galmans are still trading with us, intermittently, and could perhaps carry it Oversea to safety, or, failing that, Calormen is a nation which, whatever their ancient enmity to us (and as you know, my life's work has been to disentangle that Tale, separating the Real from the Unreal) values Learning, and will not lightly destroy any manuscript, especially one coming from our, alas, increasingly isolated Land._

_All letters now must end as if they were the last between friends, and so, friend of my youth, A's grace go with you, and may you tread the dance to its Great End!_

_Faunus._

_I reopen this bundle to add: Words cannot express how great a debt I owe to you for all your help in getting my works to the light of day, and now this last. A. be with you!_

"Presses! I didn't know that Narnia ran to that sort of thing," Peter murmured, with his eyes shut.

"Yes, think of Mrs Beaver's sewing machine; that's trickier than a printing press, I'd be pretty sure. And..." Susan leaned forward and poked the fire, sending up a little shower of sparks, then continued. "I'm thinking that the Witch's rule sent this country back a good few years in all sorts of things."

"Mr Tumnus had books," Lucy contributed. "Printed books."

"Well, this one doesn't seem to have got printed. It's just the manuscript. It's big, but the story I want is in the middle... hang on..." They waited in silence while Edmund found his place, and began to read again.

**o-o-o-o-o**

From: **A Book of Heroickal Deeds, for Young Narnians**

In the days of Queen Nerrina, Daughter of the River, and true child of King Frank's line, one cousin of her line, and knight of Narnia, Edret the Wanderer, sought adventure far beyond the borders of Narnia, far from the Tree of Protection, in the northern mountains, for the Queen had heard strange things of changes there, of changes to the Dwarfs and their ways, of changes to the Beasts, and wished to know the truth of it, and whether there was import in it all for the realm of Narnia.

And those changes were indeed of great import: a Witch (for mark you, young Narnians, that this present Trouble is not the first which has battered our land, and always has Narnia held strong and triumphed, in time) had for purposes of her own (and that tale is too dark for young ears, but when you are older, and times are, we trust, better, it shall be told to you) taught to the Dwarfs of Iron Hill the art of making from the rocks there a metal stronger than any other, and to wreak that metal into many shapes and uses, as hammers, doorframes, cooking-pots and the like.

And at first the noble Edret was greatly charmed with this art, and besought the Dwarfs to teach it to him, that he might teach it to the Dwarfs of Narnia, for he saw that Iron could be used to make great hammers, to strike stone apart for house-building, and for ploughshares more enduring than those of wood, and could bring great good to Narnia. (Moreover, he believed that the line of Frank had family tales from the days of Frank and Helen, that those great ones had told of this art, though they themselves had it not.) And the Dwarfs agreed to teach it to him, though they said that there was a price to be paid for the learning, and that price was to lie in a house of their devising one night, and then go where he pleased and as he might.

This price seemed a low one to Edret, and he agreed gladly to it, only rejoicing that the Dwarfs of Iron Hill held to the traditions of Narnian Dwarfs, to offer hospitality to strangers so freely, and all that summer he dwelt with the Dwarfs, and learnt the art of making and working Iron. Then, as the chills of winter began to blow upon the northern mountains, he began to think him of returning to Narnia, to his cousin, Queen Nerrina, and the pleasant court of Cair Paravel. But the Dwarfs reminded him of his promise, to lie one night in a house of their devising, and moreover averred that he could not leave without drinking deep with them, carousing before they parted.

And so good Edret drank with them, late into the night, and whether the drink was enchanted I cannot say, but when he woke, Edret found himself straitly imprisoned in an iron cage, set deep into the living rock of Iron Hill, and no sign or trace of any Dwarf nearby. And it came upon him that this cage was the house of their devising, and that they had imprisoned him, not meaning him ever to leave, for their own amusement, and to keep their arts (which, indeed, was not their art, but had been taught them by the Witch) for their own secret.

Three days and nights did Edret languish in that cage, not seeing any soul, Dwarf, Beast or Bird, and bitterly did he think that he would perish there, of starvation or of cold, and not ever return to the fair courts of his cousin the Queen. But on the fourth morning, he awoke to see beside the cage the Witch, seated on a boulder as on a throne, her burning eyes fixed on him, and in them only bitterness and death. He told her of the Dwarfs, and the bargain he had made, and besought her, with courteous words, to let him out, but she laughed, and told him that it was she who had bid her Slaves to make the cage, and set it in the rock, and to so contrive that there was no door to that cage, that whoever was so imprisoned must infallibly starve or perish from the cold, unless she sent food and warmth.

And he was silent, for he saw that he was indeed at her mercy, and he did not choose to beg for it.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"I thought that this was a story about Elephants," Lucy interrupted.

"It is! Or one Elephant, anyway. Keep listening; the Elephant won't be long now."

Lucy resettled herself, and the reading continued.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Long she played with her captive, letting him dwindle and pine for many days, almost to the point of death, and then sending scanty food enough, or food not fit for Narnians, and letting her minions jeer at him as he fell upon it, marking how far he had fallen from his former strength and courtliness. And he for his part, set his teeth to endure their jeering, holding fast to the knowledge that he was a Narnian, and no slave, however much her oppression grated upon him, and he set himself to endure the cold and the scanty provisions as long as might be, to protect and cherish his own life as something not owed to the Dwarfs, nor to the Witch, but as Aslan's own gift to him, a gift not to be yielded to an enemy, or lightly let drop as of no consequence.

So matters continued. But one day a Falcon, Sharpscry, ventured into those high mountain skies, for she loved the cold north, and from far overhead saw what was about, and flew straightway to Cair Paravel, and a long and weary flight it was, to take the word to the Queen. Then did the Queen, urgent to see this Narnian free from durance, confer hastily with her Council, seeking advice from them.

To go so far from the Tree of Protection, and into lands controlled by a Witch, was rash, but the Queen was adamant that a Narnian imprisoned was her responsibility, and therefore she would if needs be go herself to confront the Witch, and see her subject freed. But her Council prevailed on her to stay, saying that it were wiser, far, to send two of its own, secretly, to free Edret. And the two who were chosen to go were the Winterfather, who sat on the Council then as the Immortal, and the Elephant Mnaerundundra, who gave counsel there as coming from the Earth-dwellers, and with them Sharpscry, who had brought the word of Edret's captivity to the Queen.

Winterfather, who has many names, is he whose coming we look for in winter. (It has been nine years and more, now, that he has not been to Narnia, but I hope that you, little readers, will see him again before long, when our troubles have eased.) He is a bringer of gladness in dark times, and sorely needed now, and also moves with ease in deep snows, and so was wisely chosen to make the winter journey to the northern mountains. Mnaerundundra was mighty in strength, and in endurance, and had many times before left the boundaries of Narnia to wander in the Western Wild, seeking the mothers and young of his kind, and was chosen for his courage to go far, and Sharspscry was chosen to show the way, and also to spy out when the Witch and her Dwarf-slaves were away, to free Edret, if it might be, in their absence.

So Sharpscry flew again, the long weary way from the eastern sea to the northern mountains, beating the air high above her two companions, and they followed far below, the Winterfather riding high on Mnaerundundra's swaying, solid back. It was a hard journey, but at last came the day when Sharpscry dropped, like a thunderbolt for suddenness, to say that they were near the place where the iron cage was sunk into the rock, and that they must stay until it could be certain that the Witch and her dwarfs were gone. "For this is my task," she said, "to see and to spy the right time and place for your action." And she rose up high, and circled the mountain on slow-beating wings night and day, until she saw the path was clear.

Two days they waited, until Sharpscry gave the signal, and then with swift, deliberate pace Mnaerundundra bore Winterfather to the cage in the rock. And there they found Edret, perished almost to the point of death, unable even to know that friends had come.

"This is my task," said the Winterfather. "Bars and bolts make no difference to me." And he passed into the cage, and knelt down by Edret, and raised him gently to rest against his knee, and poured into his mouth something from a small flask, which brought life flowing back through the veins, and spoke to him words of heart and hope, which brought strength back into his face, and gladness. But still the cage was imprisoned in the rock.

Then stood forth Nmaerundundra. "This is my task," he said, and wrapping his mighty trunk around the bars of the iron cage, he pulled with all the strength that was in him, such mighty strength as was never seen in Narnian before or since, as he would heave the very mountain from its roots. And slowly, and then with a rush, so that mighty Nmaerundundra staggered back, he wrested the iron cage from the living rock, and set it in the open air.

But still, Edret was imprisoned in the cage, though the cage was now free from the rock, for the cage had no door, and was made of iron bars, not to be easily broken.

Then Sharpscry dropped again from the height and whispered harshly that they had no time to delay, for the Witch was coming.

"Then, though I am stronger to pull than to break, this also must be my task," said Nmaerundundra, and setting his great feet on the cage to hold it down, he put one great tusk through between its bars, and twisted his head, to try to lever apart the bars, so that Edret could escape. And the bars yielded, a little, a little.

"Leave this," said the Winterfather, "for the Witch is close. You are strong and can carry cage and all to Narnia, and there we can free our good knight at leisure."

But Nmaerundundra would not hear, and heaved again against the iron bars, and they yielded a little more, and Edret measured himself against the gap and pushed and struggled against the bars. Sharpscry stooped low once more, and cried, "Fly! Fly!" and was away.

Nmaerundundra gave one last mighty strain - and the bars yielded. But at the same moment, there was a terrible crack! across the mountain air, and lo! Nmaerundundra's tusk had broken, close up to his cheek, and that great-hearted Beast was plunging and stamping in his pain, bellowing low, half-stifled moans, trying valiantly to choke down, to make soundless, his deep-throated anguish.

Thus their sorrow and danger stood deathly high, with Nmaerundundra half-mad with pain, and Edret still too weak to help himself. In that desperate moment, the Winterfather moved, swift as lightning. He boosted Sir Edret up onto Nmaerundundra's back, and then stooped and caught up the broken tusk, and leapt himself, up behind Edret, and held him close, keeping both of them safe on that perilous perch. Leaning low, he called into one broad flapping ear, called words of cheer and encouragement, and great-hearted Nmaerundundra had never been nobler than that moment, when he set aside his pain of body and mind, and heeding Winterfather's words plunged headlong down the mountain track, following the sky-path shown by Sharpscry, heading away, away to the south, to the east, and away far, far from the Witch's domain.

But when, after many days they found themselves back in Narnia, where the Queen waited to meet them by Caldron Pool, to meet them and pay them homage, Nmaerundundra turned his great head aside, and would not look at any Narnian, much less at his Queen, for, he said, "I am not whole; tusks are the honour and glory of an Elephant, and without them I am no longer what I was. My strength is spent and my spirit is broken with my tusk. So how can I look on my Queen, and what now can I offer, to be her Counsellor?"

"Nay," said the Queen, and her voice was sweet as sweet water to a thirsty soul, "your tusk was broken in saving one of our own Narnians, and as you would have given it to save any one of us, it is counted as if you had saved every one of us. Nmaerundundra, your name will live forever in Narnia, and your broken tusk will hang on my wall at Cair Paravel as one of Narnia's greatest treasures."

And Nmaerundundra the Great-hearted raised his head a little, but still with a doubt in his eye.

Then the Winterfather laughed his great glad laugh, so that the very sound of it was heart and cheer to all those who stood around, and he said, "Nay, Queen, this is _my_ task. For I have brought away the tusk of the Great-hearted not to gather dust on the walls of Cair Paravel, but to be remade.

"You say truly that it will be one of this land's greatest treasures! It will be so, a royal treasure, and for a Queen, but not this Queen. This tusk will be remade, if the Great-hearted will so give it, to make a Horn, which another shall sound, and when it is sounded then help will come as surely as the Great-hearted brought help to Caged Edret. And this higher part of the tusk will be remade, if it is so given, into a quiver to hold arrows to be used in protection and to save in desperate circumstance, as we were protected and saved by the Great-hearted in his thundering charge away from danger - and I think the arrows from that quiver will not lightly miss.

"Nmaerundundra, Great-hearted, will you so give your broken tusk, won with great pain, to me for this? For whether this Gift can be made and given to one yet to come, one of great heart and courage, with great tasks to accomplish, hangs all on your giving it now."

And Nmaerundundra raised his head, and trumpeted aloud that he so gave his tusk, and so the Tusk was given, and the Winterfather has taken it, but where it has gone we do not know, though we know this, that it will come forth to be given to one yet to come, when the time is right, to save Narnia as Caged Edret was saved, by the great heart and great courage of one whose name will never die, Nmaerundundra, the Elephant.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Edmund paused, struggling a little to get his voice back on an even note.

"And that's it, Su... everyone. That's the story I wanted you to hear. It wasn't hunted, it was given. And it was always meant..."

His voice broke again, and he pushed the bundle of manuscript away, angrily, blindly, brushing at his face.

There was a sudden rush, and Susan, somehow without even getting up, had managed to fling herself across from where she had been lying back against the little hassock to where Edmund was sitting, and was hugging him, fiercely, and saying in urgent, passionate tones, "Oh, Ed. Oh, Ed. Oh, ...thank you... _thank you_."

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oak trees,like many other trees, are monoecious; each plant bears both male and female flowers.   
> Beavers have been variously defined under various old taxonomies in medieval and renaissance times, sometimes as animal and sometimes as fish; most famously, they were defined as fish in seventeenth-century Canada for the purpose of establishing what foods could be eaten in Lent. _Canadian Journal of industry, science and art_ , Vol. 4, 1859, p.386.)


	5. Summertime, and secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I owe a great deal to other fanfiction writers, as well as to the much-appreciated C.S. Lewis; this chapter especially uses materials and ideas lifted from cofax, in her story 'Carpetbaggers' ( http://archiveofourown.org/works/106190/chapters/146600) and rthstewart, in her story 'I love not man the less but nature more' (http://archiveofourown.org/works/250824/chapters/388012) and elsewhere. Many thanks to both for their generosity, as well as for their stories.

**The Ivory Merchants**

**Chapter Five: Summertime, and secrets**

It was Diamond, the oldest of the Ravens, who proved the most valuable in the business of drawing up the map of Telmar's territory, and of possible Elephant locations. Her eyes were not as sharp, nor her wings as strong, as those of the younger Birds, but her keen intelligence and incisive, darting questions brought out detail that might have otherwise slipped away unnoticed. Edmund worked very closely with her, painstakingly drawing and redrawing with thin charcoal on wooden desk-top and table-top alternately, after each journey, more and more surely, more and more precisely.

Each time the king had finished anew, all seven Ravens were called in to consider the map, and fierce, quick debates and challenges often broke out among them. Then Diamond would intervene again, questioning and leading them into logical deduction, with quick perception of possible contradictions and also possible resolutions, so that the quarrelling unkindness (as they sharply called themselves in such disputes) resolved into precise, useful analysis and description. The king was fascinated by the whole process; he did not take part in the debates, but watched, and learned a great deal. He taught himself much, as well, in the plain act of the map-drawing, and came to enjoy this attempt to pin down knowledge in clear, black outline. As the sketches became more and more detailed and useable, he grew flushed, excited and not a little grimy over the work.

"This is something like! We can make our _own_ maps!" he exclaimed to Tumnus one day, his eyes shining. "Doesn't matter tuppence that the Tisroc didn't give us any. We can make them - _and_ our own records and archives."

The Faun looked up, with a quick, understanding smile, from the newly-built shelves where Edmund had arranged the books and papers from the Tisroc.

"I can see you love it, Sire! I wish you'd known my father; you'd have got on well with him. He loved the whole business of archives and map-making, too. He was very literary." His face was shadowed again, briefly; then he closed his eyes and opened them, very quickly, as if dismissing an unwelcome train of thought. "And _that_ means - remembering those people he used to know and work with - that I know who I can ask, to find who might be willing to draw up this map for us, permanently."

The copyist turned out to be Scriptor Sordon, an iron-grey Iguana who seemed to take a sardonic, critical view of Faun and King and Ravens alike. He worked quickly and silently for the most part, glancing rapidly back and forth to the desktop as he drew the map in silverpoint on parchment, and then carefully and deftly inked in the outlines and added notes and keys where most useful. It was huge advance on the charcoal-on-table method, though parchment was not as easily got as charcoal, and the lines not so quickly erased and redrawn; Edmund experimented with it himself, though without immediate success. ("It can scraped for reuse, Sire," Sordon said, dryly. "When I get back from Telmar..." the king had replied, unabashed, and ambitious to try again.)

He had, however, determined very early that he would carry no map at all, save in his head, the better to appear to the Telmarines as innocent, non-threatening and trusting. He commandeered two of the younger Ravens, Crimtwing and Sallowpad, to drill him and check his memory on every point, all through the spring and early summer, until he and they were absolutely certain that no matter where he might find himself in Telmar territory, he could find his way back at least to the escarpment. They drilled him too, on the fixed points where slave-elephants might be found, and the movements, as far as they could ascertain them, of the trains of chained elephants moving timber for Telmarines, and of the free herds they had observed.

"But we can't see it all, Sire. There is thick forest cover, and there's stray Elephants, too; the big males seem to wander away from the rest. We can't tell where they'll go."

"Plus," Crimtwing hopped excitedly, "Diamond says that the General says we should seem like the simple birds of Telmar, and not get too low or too close."

Edmund nodded. "Yes. I have spoken about this with the High King. He thinks it best if none of the nations around know that any of you air-folk can think or speak with us. Keep it as a Narnian secret."

Sallowpad's beak clattered, and Crimtwing hopped a little, further, sideways, and nearly tottered off the table, righting herself with a little flutter.

"Secrets!" she said to Sallowpad. "Kings and Generals...!"

Their eyes gleamed.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Hello, Lu. Come to join the work-party?"

Lucy looked sceptically at her two older siblings. Peter and Susan were lying in the sun, on the open grassy ground below the northern walls of Cair Paravel, overlooking the sea.

"You don't _look_ like a work-party!"

Peter grinned, lazily. "Su's filling me in on the details of this fair of hers."

"Of ours," said Susan, with her eyes shut.

"Of ours."

"Will we be on the stalls ourselves?" Lucy asked. "Will it be things to eat? Or things we could make?"

"I don't expect so. It's not a _market_ , little sister; it's more or less what we had last summer, when the merchants were coming in, telling us what they had to offer, showing us samples and trying to make a start on trade between our countries."

"Except _this_ time," Susan said, with cheerful satisfaction, "I've got all of them to come at once, and got quite a few Narnians to come as well to show what we've got to offer, too - things _they_ make, Lu! It gives us _all_ a chance to see what's possible; then after _that_ the trading might happen just in the ordinary way, with... I don't know, wagons coming from Archenland, or ships from Calormen..."  She stopped suddenly.

"Su's been telling me how she's going to set it out, what's going where. You can stop and listen, if you like."

"No, I'm going down to the rocks to play with Kirrina."

"Been to the end of her cave yet?"

Lucy's desire to explore the whole depth of Kirrina's cave, as well as all the rivers and all the seashore had been well shared with her family.

"Not yet," Lucy said. "There's a pool in it, but we haven't gone all the way back. I think it's sort of a secret. She says she won't show me now, because I'm younger than her. She says when I'm as old as she is, she'll show me."

"But if she's... what?... a year or so older than you now, round about?... she'll always be a year older, you goose!" said Susan, sitting up to say it.

Lucy stopped short to think about it, disconcerted; Peter reached over and patted her foot, cheeringly and consolingly.

"Let her keep her secrets, Lu. She'll tell you when she's good and ready."

"Well..." Lucy shot back, with reviving confidence. "she told me another bit of her long name, anyway! She says Kirrina is short for Kirrinakgurruna. But it goes on more than that."

"Good for her! and good for you, too. Have fun!"

"Yes, we will!" and she left them, heading down to the shore.

"I love Narnian names!" Susan said, lying back against the grass again. "they all feel so full of the person!"

"Don't know what _person_ that name's full of! She's a funny little thing, that Kirrina. I never know quite what to make of her. I think maybe she's older than she looks."

"I expect you're right. But I love that she plays with Lucy, and I love that she keeps her safe, not letting her go to the very ends of the cave. And playing with her, with someone so _Narnian_ , is ... it feels to me like, anyway... Lucy's way of getting close to Narnia, like we did, and I'm so _glad_ for her!"

Gladness - for Lucy, and for being part of Narnia, and for Narnia itself - seemed to thrum between them and through them, seemed to coil in the air and become part of the wonderfully complex scents of early summer at Cair Paravel: moist earth and sweet sun-warmed grasses and, blowing in from the harbour, the salty tang of the sea.

They lay for a few minutes, just breathing Narnia; then Peter rolled over and poked one finger at Susan's shoulder.

"So... back to this work-party. You've paced it all out with Tumnus...?"

"Yes, and Windseer... to make sure we had enough turn-around room for everyone," she added.

"Good thinking. And you're going to leave everyone to make their own actual trade arrangements?"

"Oh yes! For a start, I don't know how much actual goods will be brought, and how much it will be just samples, and then people placing orders, so I'll pretty much leave them to it. But I _will_ ensure that _nothing's_ traded in or through Narnia that hurts _any_ of our people."

She had sat up again by now - they both had - and she clenched her fists and stared down at the single pier, small, but sturdy against the dancing waters. He hesitated, then spoke with difficulty.

"I wish ... Su, I _wish_ I hadn't said the Telmarines could bring what they liked to this trade fair."

Her face gentled suddenly, hard determination melting into understanding.

"I know. But the Ravens said there're both dumb elephants as well as our own in Telmar; hang on to that. You shouldn't jump to thinking horrible things."

"Yes. Edmund says the same as you, that we shouldn't be quick to jump to any assumption. But I know it was a blunder; I can't back out of the first agreement we have ever made with Telmarines, and I can't let Narnia take any... _any_ part at all, in a trade in body-parts of slaughtered Elephants... if it _is_ that. And we don't _know_ , so I'm in a cleft stick."

"For now. But we are doing as much as we can, as quickly as we can, to get this clear, one way or the other. And Edmund will find our own Elephants, and bring them home."

"Another blunder. It should have been me."

"You've already got your work cut out for you with sorting out the business in the north-west."

He grimaced acknowledgement. "What must be, must. I'll stay to see your Trade Fair well started and then we're away."

"Thanks for that! I'm...pretty excited about it actually; it's a great chance to form relationships, mend relationships a little maybe, and to show the world that Narnia is well recovered from the Winter - and perhaps also, just a _little_ bit, when you and the General and the patrol set out, to show that we can and will defend our borders and our people."

"My canny sister!"

"Oh, trade fairs aren't just about trade! Even the casualness of it, with you all leaving in the middle of the fair, on a routine patrol of the border - that'll get a message across." She nodded with satisfaction. "And as for Ed: I know he's young; I know it's a huge ask for him, and for us too, to trust him with it, but look at what we've been trusted with ourselves. Who are we to stand in the way of him doing something great for Narnia?"

He looked at her curiously. "It sounds so un-you to say that! You used to take everything on; I mean, it used to feel as if you and I had to be in charge and looking after those two..."

She covered her face with her hands, laughing. "Oh, yes! That was me! Sorry about that!"

"Well... we still do have to, though."

She showed her face again, still smiling, but more serious. "Yes. But they've looked after me a couple of times too. Remember Lu's stunt with Neerzat?

He rolled his eyes. "Only too clearly! The way she was talking, he was lucky not to be drowned outright!"

"Hhmmm... I think that was more the fierce little friend's idea! But what I meant was: that was her looking out for me. And Edmund has too, quite a bit. Looking after's a two-way street. They're growing as much as we are."

He nodded. "They are. But I still wish I could do the Telmar trip myself. I didn't handle the Telmarines well, before, and I think that's made it harder for him, and it will be hard enough, going alone among devious people, to try to win back our own Elephants, from amongst theirs."

"Yes; I was thinking about that. I think it might make things a bit easier for his trip if we make something of them when they come, have a more personal relationship with them than with the other traders. After all, they will be hosting him for... _weeks_ , I expect. I think we should meet them when they come, not all of them, but Hoom, if he's leading, or whoever, and have more conversational time with them."

"All of us?"

"Actually, no. Not Lucy. She's very wound up about them; she's convinced that they're murdering Narnians. We both know she'd be heroic about not saying anything if you asked her, but I can't see that there's any reason to make her go though a meeting with them, given how much it would upset her."

"Agreed. So you, me and Edmund?"

"You and me to start with, anyway; you're High King, and I'm running the Trade Fair. Maybe after that, you and Edmund. It won't be hard; just to set up friendly relations with them, that's all."

**o-o-o-o-o**

Two dozen men, twelve couple, each pair joined, fore and aft, by a long sling hanging from a harness bound to the shoulders of the men, and, swinging in the slings, tusks, each weighing nearly the weight of a man. Twelve tusks, the treasure of years, held by two and three and four generations, waiting for the Winter to melt from Narnia and for the trade to open again.

Hoom looked intently at each tusk as they passed. Good solid ivory, cherished for years, oiled and polished and wrapped in woollen cloth as fine-woven as could be made, and when unwrapped and displayed, glowing with a warm glow of life, bright as the moon, but warm as a sleeping child. Each pair a known pair, whose tale could be told - was told, around the night-fires of Telmar. The tusks of Grundurran, of the Grey Forest Mother, of Tipbroke, Lanky and Many-wiles and last, and greatest, of Hoom the Old - twelve tusks cherished for years and now at last being brought to market.

The most precious tusks - long, heavy and a flawless cream in colour - came last in the line, as of right. Hoom fell into stride beside them, reaching out sideways as he walked, to rest his hand lightly on the dense, solid smoothness, though covered now from the sun - the tusks of Hoom the Old, after whom he himself had been named.

He had heard the tale many times, of how his own great-grandfather had led the hunt, and had died in dealing by weighty iron mallet the last death-blow, the last of the six men to die that day. This wealth was wealth hard-won, and wealth to be shared with many. To dig the pit, to drive the beasts: these were not light tasks, and much was owed to the families of those who had joined in that work; much more, then, to those who had joined to face the rage of the great one, with knives, and the few precious iron spears, and the many fire-hardened sharpened wooden ones. The wealth had been won, and treasured for many years; now at last it was to be traded, and debts repaid with honour.

It had been years now since the hunt; Capun then had said that he would not have, any longer, any risking of lives of Telmarines when the Narnian Winter meant no market lay open for the ivory. Capturing of infant elephants for work continued, yes, cutting them off from the herd, and taking them to captivity and labour; but that was not the hunt of tusk-bearers, and not the way to honour. And there had been no trade, and old knives broke and could not be reforged, and spears had snapped in the hide of elephants who had escaped, and been lost in the forest, and axe-heads chipped and cracked, and stranger-Narnians sneered at forest-ways - _how do you live? how can you trade?_ they had asked.

But now the way lay open, and wealth was within reach again; frozen Narnia no longer blocked the way east. Even the hunts might begin again, and honour and names be made again through battle, if Capun now decreed so.

The thought of the uncanny eastern child-kings and their grasping claims came to him - the greedy baseless claims of those who did not know elephants, and had never hunted them. So let them claim! They had strange power, true, to melt away the Winter, but they had not seen and did not know the strengths or the secrets of the Men of Telmar. They scorned Telmar because Telmar had no great buildings, and no kings, but they would find that Telmar's men could hold strong to what was their own, and make the trade-ways work for them. The child-kings could not block this year's trade, at least; these tusks would ransom Telmar from being simple forest-people scorned by easterners, and bring them again the wealth and strength of iron.

Hoom the Man strode alongside the tusks of Hoom the Old, and dreamed of what was to come.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The late morning heat beat down on the stone quay along the waterfront, and on the ships tied up, unloading; on the anchored ships waiting their turn at the small pier, and on the whole crowded, shouting wharf.

The wharf... not much more than the quay itself, really, thought the High King, with a single pier, but new-furbished with good solid stanchions for the ships to tie up to, and looking surely more impressive than last summer, when last foreign visitors had tied up there. Narnia was progressing. He felt a small ripple of pride. The noise and the heat and confusion were strange , and the influx of Humans was very strange after that very Narnian spring, but it all signalled a growing and potentially prospering state.

Last summer just one ship from Calormen had seemed to take all the wharf's resources; today sailors from Galma, Terebinth, Archenland and Calormen rolled barrels, carried great bundles wrapped in coarse canvas, or passed things hand to hand along the pier to the shore, and Water-rats scuttled about, in amongst the foreign sailors, catching ropes, coiling them, tying and untying as six ships jostled to move in and then away again from the pier, to lie at anchor in the harbour. The two large Seals stationed at each end of the pier for the most part lay back and observed, directing operations, but intervening when needed. Once, the general bustle was interrupted by a cheer of derision for a Terebinthian sailor, who found himself nudged sharply sideways and into the water when he attempted to untie a Galman vessel to make way for his own; he was carried to shore between two smaller Seals, who had been lurking unseen, assigned by Koreek for just such a need.

Koreek himself did not add to the cacophony; he was a commanding presence throughout, yes, but commanded without great noise. He stood erect in the water, a little out from the end of the pier, surveying the scene with fierce eyes, and conveying his commands only through low grunts, or by occasional sharp slaps on the water, or perhaps in underwater commands heard by his fellow-seals alone.

The High King, looking down from the higher ground where the Fair was setting up, nodded to himself, appreciatively. Command and control without confusion or bellowing: it had been an excellent appointment.

He turned to speak to his sister, only to find that she had left his side; she was discussing some matter with Master Tumnus, back on the edge of the little village of tents, booths and trestles, taking shape on the grassy level between the hill of the Cair and the wharf below.

A village where nation would mix with nation. Susan had decided that goods should not be displayed in national blocks, but located by type. Spaces had been marked out, lanes and rows for different types of goods, the Narnian alongside their visitors, and they were beginning to fill. Narnian felted goods already were displayed on trestles, and close by were intricate Archenlandish weaves, and the soft, fluid cloth they wove from goat's hair, and then a blank trestle, where perhaps Calormene silks might appear, or good Narnian linen. In a different alley, silver from Pattering Hill, or copper from Archenland, maybe - or less precious goods, perhaps - a wagon was even now rumbling in from the Murmuring valley, laden with small sacks barricaded in by a row of casks, well-secured against the jolting of the roads. The village was taking shape; order was beginning to appear in the confusion.

But _only_ beginning. The fair's official opening was just hours away, and for now the upheaval was almost bewildering. He would leave his sister to enjoy the chaos, he thought. Though to her it was not chaos, of course; to her, he reminded himself, it was simply the raw material which she would turn, re-form, manipulate and make another extraordinary event unfold precisely as planned.

But she was turning now, and moving rapidly back towards him, her face, and whole bearing, alive with exhilaration; she seemed eager to speak, and he waited, smiling, for her to be close enough for her to tell him her news.

"Peter! The Telmarines...they've stopped for lunch a league away, so we've got about an hour before they get here!" Then, in answer to his unspoken question: "Sallowpad. We set up a code. So... time to get cool and ready to welcome them officially? Meet at the west gate just before they get here? Can do?"

He was suddenly immensely tickled by the sight of his usually cool, controlled sister so carried away by the zest of her work.

"Of _course_ I can. _Since_ it's the high and mighty Chatelaine of Narnia asking it of me!"

"Just plain Chatelaine will do!" she grinned. "Thanks, Peter. See you after I've sorted this lot out."

He left her to it.

**o-o-o-o-o**

In the event, it had been harder than he thought to offer a warm, courteous greeting to one who might have murdered Narnians - might have barbarously mutilated their bodies - and now might be trying to make vile profit from their tormented death.

In the event, the best he could manage at first was simply the man's name.

"Hoom."

The Telmarine had tensed; his eyes were hard.

"Your Majesty."

And it had fallen to Susan to add the graciousness, the words which carried them over that awkward beginning, and into a seemingly-friendly inspection of the booths and alleys of the fair.

The Telmarine group had brought with them several tusks; a light enough load for the two dozen or so men carrying them, Peter thought, and little enough to trade with. Still, they were settled into the place set for them, and their leaders - a younger man than Gul was introduced as second to Hoom this time, a dark-eyed, reed-thin youth named Rezmar - were apparently pleased with their welcome. They acquiesced in the proposal to walk with the kings - Edmund had joined the group as Queen Susan had bade them good-day - to survey the last setting-up of the fair.

They began with the aisles closest to the Cair. Most booths were set up now, and they worked their way unhurriedly through the entire fair, through a thickening crowd of all nationalities: Terebinthians, Calormenes, Narnians, Archenlanders, a few hesitant Galmans, islanders from farther east, who came claiming fealty to the Narnian throne, and even a few adventurers from the far southern enclave of Teebeth, who came as passengers in a Lone Islands boat, with lumps of yellow amber in their packs.

Amber and ivory and Archenlandish turquoise, the Galman trinkets of pearl and coral set on fine wires, and silverwork from Pattering Hill, and Galman woodwork with mother-of-pearl inlay all lay along the first rich laneway. Another was given to foodstuffs - barrels of salted fish, sacks of malt, nuts and dried fruits, and wines and oils and ciders and spices - Narnia had been able, after all, to put out a good sampling there, the king noted. Calormen's main display was there, too, with all the aromatic goods they had shown a year before; they seemed to have brought little else, though their reputation for culture and learning was perhaps evident in a small display, in yet another aisle, of materials for writing or painting; inks and pigments and brushes and inkstones. (Interesting, the High King thought; Susan had evidently been right that a trade fair was also a chance to present a nation's strengths; trade and diplomatic manoeuvering went hand in hand.)

The two kings steered the two Telmarines along the aisles, past cloth goods (no Calormene silk,after all; they had probably assessed, correctly, that there was not the wealth in Narnia to buy it, yet), and plant products, where both Narnian flax and Archenland tobacco were attracting much attention); metal goods, but no war-goods, by his own decree, on advice from the General. (The High King could still hear her dry summation: "Only two peoples in all the world know the secret of drawing iron from the rock, Sire, much less the secret of steel. And while Calormen can smelt steel, it is nothing as fine as our Dwarfs make; therefore..." _Therefore_... he had issued his decree.)

Still, if there were no swords or armour on show, there were fine hunting-knives; and the sidelong, fascinated glances of his guests, their tentative touching of the razor-edged blue steel seemed to show the truth of the General's words. King Edmund was talking with both Hoom and Rezmar now, casually picking up and comparing the different edges, handles, weights; their attention was all on the younger king, and on the blades, and the High King took the opportunity to study his guests. Was it in contrast to the youth and slenderness of Rezmar, the High King wondered, that Hoom seemed broader now than he had a year back, and seemed to walk more confidently - or perhaps arrogantly? He and his brother had come as suppliants last summer, but had manoeuvred deftly in negotiations; perhaps Hoom felt the time for humility had passed? Still, the youthfulness of Rezmar boded well for Edmund's journey; as a younger man, there was more chance that he could be companionable at least.

They moved on. There was only one more aisle to see, now, the northernmost, where sample slabs of green marble gleamed alongside the sterner basalt and fragile alabaster, and here actual trade was taking place, it seemed, or at least preliminary discussions, between Calormene and Archenlander.

It was growing late in the afternoon. Peter gathered together his party with one silent, compelling glance, and began to lead them back to where the temporary dais had been erected. Centaur-trumpeters were making their way there, too, from the Cair gate, and a small crowd was beginning to gather around it, and an air of expectancy was rising. There were no wood-people present, and very few Beasts - trade of this sort did not in the main appeal to Beasts, and those present were mostly Mice and Squirrels, with one lone Bear - but mingling with the Humans from across the known world were many Dwarfs, several Fauns, two Marshwiggles (what had they brought to trade, he wondered? or had they come to buy?) and, seated up against the hill of the Cair, the Giant, Rumblebuffin, staring down at the bright array below him. Even, on the other side of the crowd, closest to the searocks, he could see Lucy and Kirrina, drawn from play evidently, by the excitement of the gathering, and talking ardently together, shining fair head against shining peat-brown, Lucy pointing urgently to someone or something along one of the aisles closer to the Cair's walls.

And now the Lord Chamberlain was standing at the foot of the short flight of steps, looking expectantly past the trumpeters, who were preparing to sound a fanfare. The Queen was approaching. It was time for the fair to begin.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**


	6. Departures

**The Ivory Merchants**

**Chapter Six: Departures**

She had done well. Without doubt the first Narnian Trade Fair - possibly the first trade fair anywhere in the known world, the High King reflected - was well launched. The crowd was sharp-eyed and business-focussed, certainly, but also cheerful and positive; the crowd, and the Fair were surely taking Narnia one more step towards a secure future, dealing peaceably with all the countries around.

Including Telmar. The afternoon's work had not been easy, though Susan had carried him through the first awkwardness, and after that he had not had to say too much, since they all had been occupied sufficiently in inspecting the various precious or strange goods of the Fair. (Why had Terebinthia brought _resin_? he wondered, and tubs of black tar? Who could they imagine would want to buy such?) Then, too, as High King he had had the additional duty of encouraging and supporting all his subjects, including those from far corners of Narnia, and of ensuring scrupulous courtesy to all other visitors, so in the end it had been Edmund who had carried the weight of filling the air with words for these burdensome guests. Surely now they might disengage from the encounter?

A glance at Edmund confirmed his willingness to bring an end to the afternoon's laborious civilities; Peter turned with a stiff politeness to Hoom.

"It is time to rest and refresh ourselves, Master Hoom. You will wish to be with your fellows, and to engage in the business of the Fair, I know, but perhaps two nights hence you will meet us again, when we may talk at more leisure of your journey here, and my brother's journey back with you. I will send word on that night."

The two Telmarines bowed acquiescence, and with a sense of relief Peter watched them melt away back to where most of their fellows sat guard by the shipment of ivory - two magnificent tusks were at the booth, but the others remained in their slings, where the Telmarines had set up camp, further away.

Edmund's eyebrow was quirked in what his brother recognised as amusement, but he only murmured, so low as only to be heard by the High King, "Oh, _most_ kingly, royal brother! Were you _suggesting_ or _decreeing_ what our foreign guests should do?"

Peter frowned. At least Edmund had learned some discretion, not to say it aloud, in this mixed crowd.

"We can leave further talk until we are back..." he was beginning, when they were interrupted by the approach of a small party of women and men , carrying between them three sacks, and all very clearly both excited and anxious about their business.

"Your Majesties! Your... " the speaker seemed overwhelmed by whatever their occasion was. He stopped dead, and stood breathing quickly, eyes fixed on the High King.

Peter put aside, with regret, the thoughts of rest and privacy - these foreigners were also part of Narnia's future, whether as allies or...

"Welcome, friends," he said.

A woman pushed forward from among them, her gaze fixed on him in an uncomfortably worshipful manner.

"Not _friends_ , Sire! Sire.." She, too, seemed excited almost beyond bearing, but also almost afraid. "...loyal subjects, Sire! We dared not hope that this day..." the tears stood in her eyes. "We are your loyal subjects... forgive us that..."

The first speaker, eyes glancing quickly and nervously from king to king, and then to the three sacks, took up her tale. "Lord King... true heir of Gale, who stood between us and disaster... We have _tried_... we've gathered every nut we could, these last two years, since we heard that the Winter... " He broke off.

Peter glanced urgently to Edmund. Who were these people? But Edmund, if not at his ease, precisely, seemed to have found the clue he needed to speak.

"People of the Lone Islands!" he began. "My brother is greatly moved to see you here! The thought of your loyalty so far away is both a joy and a precious gift to us."

So Edmund, too, the High King noted wryly, could be kingly in speech when occasion required - though it was still uncertain how exactly he had guessed that these people were Lone Islanders.

"Majesties! The tribute... " and again the speaker seemed racked by anxiety, " Sire, Sire! It is so small. Forgive us! The trees on Felimath are so few now... Sire, we have delayed this year and more, wanting to gather a fitting tribute for Narnia's protection, but truly, Majesties, we have brought all we could find... the trees are so few now... "

Peter had the measure now; Edmund's hints and the delegation's own words made it plain what was about. He extended his arms to them in welcome, as his brother stepped a little back.

"Good Islanders! Felimath's tribute is precious to us, as sign of your faith-keeping..."

"Doorn, Avra" was murmured low behind him, and he continued smoothly, "... no less than that of Avra and Doorn. But it is our joy as it is our duty to so work that life in your Islands is one of peace, of well-being, not of anxiety to gather tribute! If to gather the nuts is now a hardship to you, can you imagine that your king..."

"Emperor" came the barely-audible voice.

"... and Emperor would wish such to continue?" They were looking at him now with a mixture of awe and tremulous hope. He felt a quick surge of misgiving: how could he be to these people what they seemed to think he was? But that was Aslan's commission, and he had no right to turn from it. He pushed ahead.

"We will talk later of this matter of tribute, or if time does not allow before I must be about the business of protecting other of my subjects far from here, my gracious sister the Chatelaine of the Realm, and my good brother King Edmund will so unravel your difficulties that you need fear no more. But for now... these three sacks will be borne to our..." He hesitated... _to our kitchen? to our storerooms?_ He was unsure what great virtue was in the nuts that made them seem, to the Islanders at least, worth the pains of gathering and bringing many leagues by sea. "to our Great Hall," he finished, "that we may all Four know that you have brought them to us."

It was clearly very much the right thing to say. Their faces brightened, and murmurs of "the Great Hall" passed between them.

" _Friends_... and dear subjects," he went on, thinking rapidly as he spoke, "we have much afoot now, to deal with those visitors who are not our own subjects, but we bid you, if you may stay the little extra time, to join the Queens, who will wish to meet all our subjects after the Fair's end. The King Edmund and I, unhappily, must turn to sterner duties, but we will look to see you at some later time."

"Will your Majesties visit us at the Lone Islands?" asked one of the delegation, with gathering confidence. "The heirs of Gale have many times voyaged to us, and ever been welcomed with all loyalty."

A voyage? Peter, on the verge of dismissing the group, found his attention suddenly caught by new possibilities.

"Indeed, we wish that very much, though the art of boat-building has slipped during the long Winter." Even the Cair Paravel harbour, even Glasswater, had been ice-locked through those years. "If there are boat-builders among you, be ready to speak with the Queens of what you know."

They seemed surprised at that, but willing and happy. Peter turned to Edmund, with a look inviting him to endorse what had been said.

"Certainly," Edmund began, " we look to the day when we may voyage to the Lone Islands, and see the waving palm-forests which Gale saw, and hear tell again of his deeds."

And that had _not_ been the right thing to say, Peter noted with surprise; their faces fell, and a slight fluttery panic seemed to go through the little group.

"Sire... the trees... the sheep-grazing..."

And precious time was spent in soothing them, and assuring them that it was in the people that the value and attraction of the Lone Islands lay, not the tribute or forest resources or sheep-wool, or any other commodity. By the time the group had been made to understand that no fault would be found in the matter of tribute or trees, the sun was sinking, and Peter and Edmund both were ready for the return to their own rooms at the Cair, where they could simply be alone.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Their private rooms were cool and quiet, and blessedly free of any duty at all. The Fair was doubtless still active under the newly-risen full moon, but the Great Hall and the northern walls lay between; whatever noise there might have been was muffled, muted, hushed by the massy stone and the tranquil spaces between. Peter dropped gratefully onto the plain wooden couch, and ran his hands back over his face, as if brushing all the tensions of the afternoon away.

His brother moved over to the table, where the makings of a simple meal, and jugs of cool minted water and of ale, lay waiting. He ignored the food, and poured them both a drink, took one over to Peter, then settled on his favourite hassock.

Peter nodded in gratitude. "Thanks." He took a long, thirsty swallow. "So, bright boy, how'd you know they were from the Lone Islands?"

" ' _true heir of Gale, who stood between us and disaster_ '." Edmund quoted. "Gale was the king of Narnia who killed the Lone Islands dragon. Nobody else would give you that for a title."

"Ah. Well done. That's more of _Heroickal Deeds for Young Narnians_ ; I take it?"

Edmund raised his eyebrows in assent, a quick flick, up and down.

"Well, glad I had you with me, anyway! And I presume when you get back from the west you're going to put all these scraps of history and politics down in good easy-to-read fashion?"

"For my thick-headed brother? Consider it done."

"If I could be bothered getting up..." began Peter, but let the rest of the sentence drop away. The pleasures of privacy and relaxation right now were too good to waste even in friendly wrangling.

He was glad it had been Ed who had made that unexplained blunder about the palm-trees. Edmund seemed able to just brush off that sort of thing, not agonise over what could have been done better. But then Ed took well to all the diplomatic people-handling business - and Susan of course managed as if she had been born to it - but to him it felt more like a constant anxiety, dancing on eggshells, even with loyal nervous subjects like the Lone Islanders, let alone the horribly oppressive business of trying to seem hospitable to people who...

He looked up to see Edmund watching him consideringly, with something of sympathy in his sharp face.

"You know... you do all right."

"How do you mean?"

"You think you're not great at the diplomatic word-stuff, but when you have to speak, you do all right. I know you'd rather have action than talk - you and Lucy both!" He grinned, and Peter replied with a rueful smile, thinking back over some of Lucy's more explosive action. "But when we really need someone who can do words like a battlehammer... that's you!"

"Thanks. But I almost feel... well, I do feel! that this expedition to scout out what's happening in the north-west, and deal with whatever vindictive remnant of the Witch's army has been behind the troubles... that will be a _lot_ more comfortable than trying to keep a watch over every word that comes out of my mouth, to ... I don't know.. be as sensitive as a _jellyfish_ to the slightest touch..."

" _Nobody_ could ever call you a jellyfish, Wolfsbane!"

"Wolfsbane's a jellyfish? Who says so?" Susan swung into the room, still alight with the exhilaration of the successful opening of the Fair.

"Our brother is saying that he is not quite that sensitive," Edmund informed her. "I think he's had rather a bellyful of international relations today."

"I'm just not made for all the subtlety and the angling about. You two do it well. Oh, and by the way, Su..."

Susan, busy with the variety on the table, groaned a little on hearing of the reception for Narnian subjects which he had decided should follow the Fair, but assured him that she and Lucy between them could cope, with Tumnus' help.

"And these nut-things... make sure they're on display, will you? The Lone Islanders seem to have been working themselves into fits worrying about whether we'd have enough for their tribute - the nut-trees are dying off or something."

"Will do. By the way... they're not the only loyal subjects to turn up out of nowhere."

"Oh?"

"It's what we hoped. The exiles. It's just been one or two so far, sounding us out. But there are groups of Narnians in Archenland, and Calormen, apparently (that was pretty under-the-carpet stuff - I think they're in a ticklish position) and Terebinthia and even down in some place called Teebeth..."

"Ah! a long way south, I think." "...so Lucy and I might need to run two receptions - one for the actual current subjects, and a smaller one for exiles who want to return, to discuss matters there."

"Nothing's easy, is it?" "Oh, some things are! Can you take it easy tonight? You'll eat here? You're not dining with the Telmarines?"

"No." Peter looked suddenly as if all the strain of the afternoon had returned. "I told Cook that was off. I don't think I can do it, Su. I even found it hard to just _talk_ to them. They have come back here - and I _know_ it's my fault - and what they've brought _has_ to have been taken from the dying bodies of... we don't even know! It may have been our own exiles - I don't like it even if it's not, to tell you the truth. But if it _is_ our people who've been hunted and tortured... I managed the welcoming, because of what you said, Su, and I have said I will see them once more, but I _can't_ break bread with them."

"I understand," Susan said. Her eyes were very gentle. "I do understand that, Peter, truly. Truly, High King."

"I hate to let you both down."

"It's not letting us down for you to be what you are, Pete," Edmund commented, practically. "Aslan knew exactly what you could do, and what you couldn't, when he put you here. If you can't... I'm happy to work with that. Su, we told them we'd see them again two nights from now, though."

"The night before you go, Peter?"

He nodded.

"Right. I'll think about it - if the meal's off, we can still have them up from the Fair, anyway. You two, I mean. Maybe have Windseer there as well. Meanwhile..." Queen Susan paused in her planning, and smiled, nodding invitingly down at the little array of breads and pickles and cheeses, apples and radishes, before her, on the table. "How about we drop all that and just look after ourselves for a bit?"

**o-o-o-o-o**

The second meeting with the Telmarines had not been a _total_ disaster, Edmund considered. It had been a mistake, perhaps, to make it on the night before the patrol left. Peter was not edgy about that; as always when it was a matter of standing as protector of Narnia, he was calm, focussed and prepared: prepared for the patrol, for the clear, hard analysis of the situation on the ground, prepared for action and for danger, for battle - but not prepared to endure this insubstantial feinting and manoeuvring with words.

Moreover, his brother could see, that with his mind on the worsening reports from beyond Lantern Waste the High King was wracked by anger at the wrongs done to his subjects there, was angry also that he had not prevented it, and above all was impatient to be gone.

There was good reason to delay until the morrow. The time had been chosen so that the patrol would arrive at the Waste, and travel beyond, as the nights drew closer to darkmoon, the better to have darkness as cover if needed, to move, and observe and strike by night. For that reason departure in the morning, three days after full-moon, made sense. Nevertheless, Edmund understood well that his brother chafed at the delay, and at spending his last night in the Cair playing host to Men who had possibly done cruelties more vile and bloody than those reported from the north-west.

The few brief remarks he had addressed to the Telmarines when they had arrived, as arranged, on the northern wall, had been cold and distant. The plan, as devised by the Chatelaine, had been that the advance in intimacy indicated by meeting actually within the Cair, and walking together along its walls, would engender a useful reciprocal trust, but, faced with the High King's grave remoteness and Hoom's dark and resentful looks, Edmund and Windseer had had hard work to keep the conversation at the level of easy courtesy that Susan had sketched out.

They had asked about the Telmarine territory, about its borders, and the two guests had repeated stolidly that their land had no borders, that they roamed the forest as free Men. " _Narnia_ 's borders are established," the High King had interjected sharply, and it had seemed best to leave the topic.

They had spoken of the Wall, and admired how the Telmarines could have descended that grim escarpment with the unwieldy load of twelve tusks; the guests had swerved aside, and refused to talk of it.

They had begun to speak of Narnia's recovering economy, and Hoom's smothered resentment had flared openly. "Yes, it is known how the stars smile on _Narnia_! That gold lies in your river-sands, and that your Dwarfs can draw iron from your rocks. Telmar..." then, almost to himself, and not to his hosts, "why have the stars smiled here, and yet have been so hard on my land?"

Windseer's eyes had brightened at the prospect of discourse on the Stars and the movements. His lips parted, eagerly, but before he could speak Hoom's insistent voice rose again, this time in bitter, grating complaint.

"The stars smile on Narnia and yet you still stand between us and our trade. You have such wealth! Of gold, of iron... Why do you block us? Why may we not trade freely of _our_ wealth too? Do you think we pick up tusks as easily as Narnians pick up gold, along the river?"

The High King had wheeled to face him, with one sharp gesture silencing all other talk, and demanded abruptly: "Will you take an oath that those you have brought here are not the tusks of Talking Elephants?"

And Hoom's resentment had dropped from him, instantly, and been replaced by a kind of zestful relish; Edmund wondered if he had been waiting for precisely this challenge.

"Majesty, these tusks were stored from my father's father's time, not hunted in my life. How could I have heard it, even if the elephants had spoken?"

"You do not answer my question! Will you take an oath?"

"Should I take an oath to what I have not seen, Majesty?" There was no doubt about the pleasure the Telmarine was taking in evading the king's thrusts. He smiled, with an edge of mockery. "Narnian custom I do not know, but in _Telmar_ , we take our word only to what we know."

The High King brushed aside the affront; his voice was hard as tempered steel. "Then speak plainly of what you know! _Have you heard Elephants speak?_ "

This had set Hoom back; the smile had disappeared, but he had answered plainly, though with a certain defiance.

"I have never heard an elephant speak, Majesty. Never."

"Have you ever _captured_ an elephant?" Peter had rapped out.

The Telmarine had hesitated very briefly; in that brief moment Edmund noted that the young man, Rezmar, had looked disconcerted, as if the question had been a home thrust. Hoom, however, had gone on to answer, readily enough.

"Yes, I have captured an elephant, but I vow: _it lives yet and has never spoken_. Let your brother king attest, when he returns hence, that the beast is dumb. Further, King of the Narnians, I will declare to you this: if ever any elephant I have captured speaks to me, it may go free. What more would you have?"

The answer seemed clear, and the High King, though he frowned, had taken it as such. He had turned away again, saying moodily. "I accept your word, Hoom. It is good that my brother travels with you in five days' time. But know this," he turned back, "if we ever hear that ivory is taken from Talking Elephants we will - as the Lion lives, Master Hoom, we _will_ close the road through Narnia, and we _will_ make justice for our murdered cousins."

Words as sudden and sharp as a lightning-bolt; in response, Hoom's anger and resentment seemed to flare anew in his face, but he pressed his lips together, and neither High King nor Telmarine had spoken again of the matter.

The conversation had struggled on, and there had been gained that avowal from Hoom; the evening had not been a _total_ disaster. But Edmund had seen the flash of admiration in the eyes of the younger Telmarine at Hoom's words. It had been, he was sure, a misleading declaration; the truth, and yet not the truth. But _this_ night, the night before the High King left to sweep away fear and evil from the north-west, was not the time to unsettle things, or to force uncertainty on the High King.

So King Edmund kept his own counsel; what remained unclear, he promised himself, he would bring to light when he journeyed to Telmar.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Not quite dawn. The moon hung low in the western sky. The air was still cold, but as ordered, the patrol was ready to depart. Peter's last instructions were given to his sisters and brother in brief, unemotional spurts as he checked his equipment, cinched his saddle and ran his eyes over those making ready with him - a small group, hand-picked for a surveillance patrol, not a pitched battle - Wolves, Panthers, Dwarf archers, Badgers and Satyrs, gathered in the Cair forecourt.

"We should be no more than a month. Shortfeather will be my personal messenger to you, Su, and we'll use the other three as relay-messengers." The four Owls had left the previous night.

"If you need to get a message to me, and none of them are back here, send any of the parliament, not any other Bird."

"Ed, don't expect to hear from me directly, and better that you don't send to me unless you need to."

"Susan - I'm sorry for dropping that reception on you, but I thought it would be better to seize the day while they're all here, than to try to organise something when Ed and I are back."

"Lu..., " and for this special sister he did take a minute to stop what he was doing, and squat down in front of her, "just be good, and be happy, all right?"

She looked down at him, her eyes unfathomable.

"I'm not a baby."

"You're not! But you're my little sister, and... I'll miss that smiley face!"

"If I want to do grown-up things while you're away, can I?"

He laughed. "So long as there's always Su, or a grown-up Narnian friend with you."

Her full dazzling smile rewarded him. "That's all right then! Good-bye! Aslan with you!"

All of her older siblings laughed at this abrupt dismissal. Susan caught up her hand.

"Come on, Lucy! Let's watch from down in the Fair, to see how they look when they go! Aslan go with you, Peter. Between his paws."

"Between his paws," the High King repeated soberly. He watched them run helter-skelter down the slope to the lower ground, then turned to his brother.

"Ed... I think there couldn't be anyone better to do what you're doing. But I can't help thinking I'm getting the easy job here, and I feel..."

"Yes, I know," Edmund interrupted him, with a cheerful impatience. "My brother the High King will always think he has to do the lot. Well, you can't, and you don't have to, and Aslan gave this country all four of us! Take life easy for once... if easy's the right word for what you'll be up to!"

The High King smiled, unwillingly. "Easier than what you'll be doing anyway!"

The smile faded, and he went on: "Ed, I want you know that I will stand by any commitments you make there; negotiate, if that's the way it goes, with a free hand. Do anything you have to do to get our exiles free and back to us. Take what time you need to try to decide if the ones appearing as dumb elephants are really our own, especially those hauling logs at the Forest edge, that the Ravens said were maybe showing compassion to each other. That feels to me... but it's for you to judge, when you're there. Still, Ed... could that compassion be a sign that these are our exiles, even if they _don't_ speak? And there is one more thing..."

His voice slowed, and it was with a frustrated uncertainty that he went on, picking his words carefully: "Even for those who were alone, and not showing any compassion, or speech... still, they can feel pain. I've been thinking over and over about our coronation oath, where we swore to care for the dumb beasts as well as the Beasts, remember? _not to let any hold another under or use it hardly_. But outside our borders, I don't know what we can do or should do, especially since we're still getting Narnia back on her feet - I don't _know_! But... bear it in mind?"

"Yes."

The High King looked at him with a sudden doubt. "You'd already thought of that, hadn't you?"

And it was the real Edmund grin which answered, not just the word. "Yes. Aslan go with you, thick-headed brother."

The High King laughed, clouted him on the shoulder and swung up into the saddle. "And with you! Between his paws!"

"Between his paws."

And then soberly and unsmiling - for the early morning Fair was looking up, and it was the part of the High King to enact both Narnia's majesty and her hardness, to show in his own person the land's purpose to defend her borders and her people - he gave the invisible sign to his horse to walk forward, and the little cavalcade set off, the horse clop-clopping, the Dwarfs and the Badgers marching sturdily, the Satyrs and the Panthers and the Wolves moving with their own grace and menace, and overhead, most awe-inspiring of all, the slow, ominous beats of the mighty wings of the General, the Gryphon.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"How did they look?" King Edmund asked his two sisters, as they came to the top of the rise to the Cair gate.

"Wonderful! They looked a bit scary and a bit lovely, and exactly right!" Lucy burst out.

Susan was more restrained, but nodded in agreement. " 'Exactly right' _is_ exactly right. They were exactly what I wanted. And everyone who was awake at the Fair - which meant every country's guards, of course - took note, which should have good diplomatic effect. Oh, it was _great_ that the patrol had to go while everyone was here!"

"You know... he wasn't just doing it to entertain the Fair!" Edmund teased her.

"You needn't think you can get a rise out of me that easily, dear brother! And it's my designated job, I remind you, to make sure all our neighbour countries respect us, as well as like us."

"You're doing brilliantly. Next job: can you point me out from up here some of the exiles? If I'm not going to be here for the reception, I'd like to at least meet them now, or a few at a time over the next few days."

"Be discreet with it. Some of them are very uncertain how things will stand with them in their current homes, if the notion of them coming back gets around."

"Understood."

"And me too. I'd like to meet them as well."

"All right! We'll both go, once our sister shows us who's who."

Susan looked searchingly down at the Fair, now stirring into full daytime activity. "Down there... the man in blue and the boy with him... the family's in Galma right now, but they move about... On the wharf, those two women are from an old Beruna family; they went to Archenland early on... Oh! By the way...the Telmarines! Do you think you might ask them to a meal now?"

"No. I've got a better plan, I think. But not tonight. The moon will still be too bright tonight."

This brought Susan's attention abruptly back from scanning the crowds below. "That sounds most intriguing! Do I need to know?"

"Dear Lady and sister! You know you can trust me!" he teased.

"I do indeed." The affection was warm and clear in her voice.

Lucy suddenly seized a hand of each, and brought them to her face ecstatically. "This is _lovely_! I love Narnia! I _love_ it that we all don't need to know what we're all doing, because we _all_ trust us _all_!"

"We do!"

And the elder pair smiled at each other over her head.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The moon rose later, night by night, slowly pulling away from her full glory and leaving the beginning of the night to soft summer darkness. That soft dark, that quietness of night, Edmund judged, made for a better time to get to know strangers; when faces were hidden, or only half-seen, then the people themselves, whatever their form, were free to be open with their thoughts, with who they were.

He spent an evening, and then another, simply being around the Fair after dark. The energy of the days of preparation and of the opening night had subsided, and the novelty of many nations camping close together had ebbed a little; by the fourth night there was quietness, not rowdy mirth, and the silent aisles between the booths lay empty for the most part, only that in or before each booth there was a guard, or two, watchers to see that the goods were kept safe through the night. Narnian Satyrs, as well, lounged on the slopes up to the Cair, and from time to time Centaurs paced on their rounds, a light duty to see that all was well.

By that fourth night, the guards had become accustomed to each other; no guard went far from the home-booth, but they had begun to call to each other, and to gather around the small fires together and to mock each other, nation to nation, in almost comradely ways, as they tried to drink strange drinks, or to match each other in odd tests of skill or cunning.

By the fifth night they had become accustomed, too, to the soft passing presence of the king; he halted, the sixth night, as if by idle chance, at a fire where a mixed group of Archenlanders and Telmarines, and, surprisingly, a Marshwiggle, huddled in near-silence, passing from hand to hand a long and tarry pipe, from which trickled a dank, noxious smoke.

He slipped down into the group, nodding acknowledgement and signalling the needlessness of any ceremony; after a first unsettled stir, they accepted him amongst them well enough. For a time, he simply sat, and was part of them, listening to the what little talk passed; it seemed some business was being done, between the Marshwiggle and the Archenlanders.

"Then we'll send it by packhorse to Beruna."

"Ahhh... but it's rough, that track; lame your horses, I expect. Better you sail it down, Winding Arrow to Shribblemouth."

A silence, as the thick black smoke drifted down. Then the last speaker began again, lugubriously.

"Though there's always bad storms by first-fall; you could drown, and all the leaf lost, too. Terrible waste of good leaf, that'd be."

The Archenlander seemed in no hurry to reply; Edmund deduced that the deal was a done deal, and this apparent discussion of ways and means was more a form of slow verbal celebration dance than actual decision-making. The next time the pipe passed close he held out his hand for it.

"Oh... you wouldn't like it, Sire... too damp for Humans, I should think," the Marshwiggle objected. "Hang in your lungs like a swamp-fog, it would. Not good for the likes of you."

Edmund looked pointedly across to the Telmarines and the Archenlanders. "I see that other Men have tried," he said, "and the tobacco is from Archenland, I think?"

The Archenlander grunted assent; the Telmarines did not speak, but in the flickering light Edmund could see that they were watching keenly, with something of a half-hidden, grinning expectation that the Narnian king would not be able to do as other Men had done. He kept his hand held out for the pipe, and reluctantly the Marshwiggle relinquished it to him.

One long strong pull of breath in - and the vile stuff rushed down into him, not just into his lungs, he felt, but right through his arms and stomach and head, sickeningly muddy and harsh, ripping the skin, seemingly, from his throat, and seizing up his whole ability to breathe. For a long, long moment he was motionless, his mouth clamped shut against he knew not what disaster - even to try to breathe again felt full of unknown consequence. He knew his eyes were open and staring, and knew they were all watching, to see if he could swallow the smoke, could... remotely, deep inside himself, he knew that he was feeling smothered and sick, and also very sorry for the Marshwiggle, whose appalled and anxious face seemed to be swimming before him, larger than it should be, and wavering... the time seemed to stretch endlessly since that one long inhalation...

And then - he had survived it. And breathed out and wheezingly in again, gasping and retching a little, and laughing, too, and the anxiety in the face of the Marshwiggle eased into relief, and all the Men around the fire were laughing - and the stranger King Edmund of the Narnians had become a person known, and not feared, and _not_ strange. It was not the more gracious meeting with their leaders which Susan had hoped for, but it was a start, even just with these two guards; something had shifted, unlocked between them; he could begin to get to know Telmar.

**o-o-o-o-o**

They talked late that night, very slow, meandering talk that drifted heavily down like the pipe-smoke. He did not learn much; that they took pride in living free, that they took pride in the inaccessibility of their land. The Wall ran so far south as to cut off Archenland, at least, and so far north that there had been no possibility of any contact with Marshwiggles before this Fair. The Telmarine guards had themselves only just learned the noxious skill of pipe-smoking, apparently; for them it was part of the wild adventure of travelling to a foreign land. He noted that they swore _by the Stars_ , and wondered then how deeply angry they might feel, if they felt, as Hoom had felt, that _the Stars smile on Narnia_ but not on their own land.

He asked them, sometime through the night: "Do Telmarines know of Aslan?", but their faces were blank.

"Do you know of things which cannot be seen?"

More blankness.

"What is not seen is not known, little Majesty," one of them offered.

Well, he should have expected that.

"Do you know of things not dying?"

"All men and beasts die." Then, a little reluctantly, and jerking his head aside, "The stars die not. They guide us, and they die not."

Edmund pondered long on that one.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The seventh night of the Fair, too, he talked with the Telmarines, though not so late. There were more of them that night, and even Hoom came, and sat beside him. Was it that the guards had told him of the previous night's companionable hours, and that Hoom, no less than he, wanted to build a way to know each other? - or was this Aslan's paw, maybe? Maybe what he was doing was the right way to try to work, though not Susan's way - nor would it have been Peter's way or Lucy's, he thought, wryly. But ... he was himself, and he could only act as he knew.

But the talk that night, though friendly enough, was not deep. Hoom apparently saw the meeting as a chance to try to manoeuvre for Telmar's gain; he spoke of making the trade route permanent, and even pushed for a kingly decree that the Dwarfs should share their iron-making secrets.

Grinning a little to himself at this impossibility, Edmund sidestepped, and raised again the matter of the stars, not least because he had heard slow-thudding hoofs approaching on the grass; Haelwisse would pass soon on his rounds, and might perhaps be drawn into the conversation.

"We spoke of stars here, last night, that stars are guides to Telmar," he began.

And yes, the Centaur had stopped; from the corner of his eye, Edmund could see him leaning on his spear, caught by the talk of Stars.

Hoom, though, did not seem disposed to speak of what stars might mean to Telmar. He answered shortly. "They guide us."

"They guide you to know which is east and which is north, "Edmund probed, "but do they guide in nothing else?"

Hoom moved his head impatiently. "They show... the stars move across the skies, little king, like the beasts move across the grass. A hunter watches the herd and sees which star strays where. What is watched is known, stars show us what _is_ , and... sometimes what is to be."

 _What is to be..._ Edmund held his breath.

Haelwisse's deep, melodious voice came from the dark. "We say 'dance'... We say the stars _dance_."

Hoom stood up, suddenly, coldly angry. "It is late, Lord King, and this is not matter for light talk; you should leave us now." And then, refusing to look at the Centaur, but raising his voice to be heard by all around: "All _Men_ know, all Telmar knows, that only _fools and children dance_."

Not even moonrise, yet; it was an uncomfortable - uncomfortably abrupt - end to the night, Edmund mused as he walked with Haelwisse back to the Cair gate. Hoom had come to talk with him, but now seemed only eager to be rid of him. Odd.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Early morning again, as he stood with his sisters to close the Fair. Susan had decided that the next should be in two years' time; he wondered if the other nations would come again in such numbers, and wondered, too, if Calormen might feel that Narnia had taken the world by surprise, and must not be allowed to do so again.

But that was not today's problem. Today was supporting Su in this, the closing scene of her triumphant venture to set Narnia's trade and diplomacy on a sound footing - and then would come the packing and the final words, and then the beginning of his own joyous venture: to set captives free, to bring the good news of welcome again to those wandering and hunted in Telmar. He felt the thrill of it go through him as he stood; the speeches, the applause, the cheers, washed past him almost unnoticed.

And the Fair was over. The crowd began to break apart; Galmans and Terebinthians set off at a trot, as their ships jostled towards the quay, edging to see which would take the place of the Calormene ship, which had slipped into place, apparently, in the very dead of night. He would have liked to have stayed, to observe again the different sorts of vessels and sails which had come from each place; Peter, he knew, was anxious to re-establish Narnia's sea-going power. But the Telmarines had made plain that they would be away swiftly; indeed, most of the men seemed to have already gone, oddly enough - perhaps angry that they had not sold all - or any? - of their ivory, since the two greatest tusks had still been at the booth when he had sat with them on the night before, and he supposed the other ten, which had never yet been put on show, were also unsold. At any rate, most of the Telmarines had gone, and Hoom and Reznar had said that they, and he, would follow before the sun had gone too high. It was time to pack.

**o-o-o-o-o**

He found her in the Great Hall, looking down from the eastern window to the departing ships.

"Susan."

"You're away? Oh, this feels so _wrong_. You should be going with cavalcade and...to just have you leave like this, on foot, and so _alone_." Her voice wavered.

"Cavalcade was for the High King, Queen Susan." He smiled at her, trying to soothe her unhappiness. "And he is he and I am I, and..."

She flung herself at him, and hugged him very tight. "You are _both_ so wonderful! and so _dear_ to me! Look after yourself."

"Of course I will... and Sallowpad and Crimtwing will be checking us every day, and winging straight back to you! And I'll call for more to scout for me if I need it. We've got our codes fixed."

"Of _course_ you have!" she said, teasingly, but her tears spilled over as she laughed; she hastily brushed them away again. "Oh, Ed! Thank you so much for doing this! And if you can find anything about... it wasn't just the Horn..."

"I know." He stepped back, and looked up at the ceiling above, at the thousands and thousands of tiny ivory tiles, which overlaid the multitude of graceful fan-vaults rising from slender pillars, from end to end of the Hall. "If I can find out anything, I will."

"Thank you." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. They stood in a brief silence, then Edmund lifted his voice and called "And _where_ is the great and glorious Queen Lucy?"

"Here!" and his little sister whirled in, looking as excited, eager, and apprehensive as he felt himself.

"You were here all along?" he teased her.

"No, I came in before, but I could see you were private, so I left. And anyway, I was looking at the Telmarines; they're waiting down on the ridge." Her small face hardened as she spoke.

"You really don't like them," Susan observed.

"They are _horrible_! I _know_ they have killed Narnians; I can feel it! We've _got_ to stop them and get the Elephants away!"

"I'll do my best," Edmund said, and then, "You're right Lu; It's part of our oath. This is what we're here for, or part of what we're here for, and we've got to do it." _Or die trying_ , his mind said, but he suppressed that. "So...it's time for me to go."

"Then... Aslan go with you," said Susan steadily; she moved to stand behind Lucy, wrapping her arms around her, and gazing straight at her brother.

"Aslan go with you," Lucy repeated, adding urgently, "and say it to us, too, Edmund."

"With all my heart! Aslan go with you, Lucy; Aslan go with you, Susan. Between his paws!"

"Between his paws!" two voices answered him, and then he turned and left.

**o-o-o-o-o**

On the ridge below the Cair, Hoom watched the Narnian king walk through the gate, and smiled inwardly.

He had done it! Under the very noses of these children-kings, and their inhuman protectors, he had carried out a trade which surely they would have blocked, if they had known of it. The Winter had taught Telmar much; those many long years without the chance to trade their ivory for Narnian iron and steel work had shown the unwisdom of relying on a single source for something so precious. Narnia wanted Telmar without iron, weak and dependent, and so they would neither trade nor share their secrets - but Telmar had found a way.

In all the world, only Narnian Dwarfs and Calormenes made steel and knew the secrets of smelting iron. The Dwarf-work was incomparably better; the world knew that. But Calormene axes would bring down trees, and Calormene saws would make them into timber, as well as ever Narnian axes and saws could do; Calormene knives to slash undergrowth, Calormene spears and arrowheads to bring down the great beasts whose ivory was Telmar's wealth... And if ever Narnia did try to invade, then Calormene swords, and Calormene armour... The long Winter hampering of trade was over, and Hoom would not allow any new barrier to crush Telmar further.

 _Stars be with us!_ he muttered, and looked to the east. That star, the eastern star, which had given fortune to Narnia, was rising, and he spat, furtively, against it. That star might rise, but it would fade soon enough, as the sun strengthened; Telmar's stars were good to guide all night. _Stars guide us now! Guide us to_ _wealth and power_.

And now the boy-king was to hand. The march to Telmar could begin.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The parliament Peter refers to when giving his farewell instructions, is the group of Owls living close to Cair Paravel, not a modern elected body.
> 
> In that same scene, Peter's quoted memory of their coronation oath, "not to let any hold another under or use it hardly", is taken from The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 11, Aslan's charge to King Frank and Queen Helen.
> 
> and with thanks to rthstewart for the loan of her Gryphon.


	7. Into Telmar

**The Telmarines were clear** from the beginning that they intended to waste no time in slow travel, nor to make allowances for Edmund's shorter legs on the march. Both Hoom and Reznar greeted him courteously, and Hoom jerked out the names of the two other Men with them - Nim and the shorter one, Wily, whom indeed he knew from the sixth night of the Fair, when he had tried to smoke the Marshwiggle tobacco - but if courteous, they were brief, and the pace they set was swift; he knew that by the end of the day he would be finding it gruelling. Nor did they break long for such small meals of dried meats and fruits as they took on the way. The king had supposed that they might meet again the ten Telmarines who had gone ahead, but no, of those dozen men who had arrived seven days before, carrying the tusks which had so disturbed all his siblings, in their different ways, only Nim and Wily travelled with them.

And those two were empty-handed, so that at least one pair of tusks had been sold, quietly, at the Fair. And the rest? That there had been some movement that last night of the Fair had been reported by the Satyrs, whose eyes narrowed to thin, deceptive slits as they slept, but whose senses were never fully asleep. They had seen and heard movement in the night, stealthy movement from the camp to the quay, and back, and then, after moonrise had seen movement again, quietly, Men departing west, burdened, though they could not see with what. And it could have been Archenlanders, could have been any of the visitors, indeed, even Galmans or Calormenes deciding to travel west to visit with the Telmars, but, Edmund thought, the conclusion was fairly clear.

Well, the guests at the Fair had not been prisoners; they had been free to depart as they would, had been free to trade as they would. Which made it all the more interesting, Edmund thought, as he half-jogged to keep the pace, that they had kept secret that some such trade had been done, between the Telmarines and... presumably the Calormenes, since their ship had been at the quay in the morning. He could only think of one commodity that would make sense of trade between those partners; that they wanted to keep it secret felt distinctly... unsettling.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"I don't like them both being away," Lucy said, uncertainly. "It's the first time we've been alone together without Aslan."

"Let's go up and watch him as he goes," Susan suggested. The one time they had been alone _without Aslan_ was too terrible to want to remember, now, when they were alone again. "We can be seeing him on his way, and look out for the Ravens as well."

But both sisters felt a further stab of misgiving to see Edmund's smaller, slighter, figure among the fast-moving group of Telmarines.

"They're going so quick! They're just trying to wear him out!" Lucy sounded both angry and unhappy. Susan set aside the thought that her sister probably was completely accurate in reading the matter, and turned to comforting.

"Edmund will manage. And the Ravens have said they'll report every single day - seven of them, Lu, even old Diamond!"

"Ye..e..es," the word was drawn out, doubtingly, "They can watch him, but what if he needs _help_?"

"We have to trust him to be able to manage, and trust to Aslan, too."

Lucy said nothing for a little while; the figures heading west were now starting to drop down out of sight, on the other side of a small rise; even this day's two Ravens flying far off, away to one side, had shrunk to near-invisibility. When she could see no more, she answered. "I do! but still..." with a return to brisk decisiveness, "Susan, Kirrina says she'll help if I ask her to."

"Help _how?_ She's such a fierce little thing, Lu."

Lucy brushed this aside. "I don't know, but she was awfully good before, and I showed her the tusks at the Fair, and she says if I want to, we can..."

"Oh, Lucy! I don't think half-drowning the Telmarines like you did with Neerzat would have helped! And remember what Peter said - he wants you to just be here and be happy."

"Be _good_ , he said! And he said I could do anything I liked if I had a grown-up with me."

"Well, that's true! But, come on! we've got to meet Mr and Mrs Beaver and Mr Tumnus and get things ready to receive all the Narnians who have come from far away. From the Lone Islands, Lucy! Doesn't that sound like somewhere you'd like to go, some day?"

"Mmmm..." said Lucy.

Susan thought it best to ignore the dissatisfied tone in that indeterminate sound.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Seen close to, from the steep wooded slope below it, the escarpment was awe-inspiring. It rose sheer, many times higher than the walls of Cair Paravel, and apparently unscaleable - hard, fractured rock, sharp-facetted and unforgiving. Edmund glanced up at it, and then across at the little knot of Telmarines standing below, in close consultation. Though the sun was still far from setting, it seemed that the decision was that they would rest the night, and begin the ascent in the morning.

Good. The king was not sorry to have one short day's work, at least. It had been a hard, fast march across Narnia; Hoom had stopped only reluctantly, and late, each night, and had pushed a savage pace during the day, past Beruna, along by the Great River for two days, then swinging south-west and down across the Murmuring Valley. They had forded the river without great difficulty, though the bottom of rounded treacherous stones had sent one of the men spluttering and choking some way downriver. It had been a revelation, that day, to see Hoom, shouting and running along the river bank, outstripping the river and charging out onto an overhanging rockledge, and finally reaching down with unexpected strength to pluck the man, Wily, from the river, pack and all.

"That was well done," Edmund had commented, as the pair had slopped their way back to join the other three.

"Can the King of Narnia do as much for his subjects?" Hoom had asked, goading him.

"To pull them from a river? Perhaps not," the king had replied, stepping aside from the challenge, and had enjoyed seeing the slight surprise in Hoom's eyes give way to a discomfited realisation that Edmund counted among his subjects some very much heavier than Wily - including those very subjects whose safety was the object of his journey.

But there had been no more talk then. Hoom had insisted on resuming the march, though Wily was stumbling and drenched and Hoom himself was wet and strained from the rescue; they pushed up from the banks of the Murmuring, until that night they lay on the far side of the valley. (And the king had noticed, that night, that the ground did indeed seem to murmur beneath him as he lay on it; he had supposed until then that the valley had been named for the river, but now it seemed more likely that underground streams had given rise to the name.)

After that had come another hard day's march, and now this short day climbing up and up on stony ground to the base of the Great Cliff, of the Wall. Tonight's sleep would be hard and on sloping ground, in amongst spindly, thin-growing trees - not Trees, he felt, though he was still the slowest of his siblings to be able to know these things.

Under the not-Trees, though, he could see at a little distance, perched on a boulder, a Bird, quiet and observant. He stood, and walked, casually, away from the fire.

"Smoke's drifting," he heard Nim call quietly across to Wily, and grinned a little to himself. The names they used for him all told their own tales. This one - or Mudsmoke - was Nim's and Wily's private codename; it amused him that they evidently thought it was too deeply cryptic to be understood. Hoom's words, too, were a kind of code, though of state of mind, rather than meaning. "Little king" was when he was in good humour, while "Lord King" flagged bitterness and irony; "Easterner" was more neutral, but evidently called on a long history of hostility, or at the least, difference. But if he thought of codes, it was time to use his own.

Turning, with a show of tired reluctance, he began the stretching and bending he performed each morning and night, exercise in which a keen observer would note the differences, one day to the next, in the number of turns to the left, to the right, the arm-stretches, the kneebends - and those called forth a protest now, from his tired muscles! But he did not doubt that the exercises would do him good, physically, which was a useful subsidiary to the main purpose.

And perhaps would help him sleep also, though no-one would be falling sleep easily tonight; no-one had even bothered yet to find some patch of ground to call a bed. Maybe tonight again could be a chance to use the darkness to build trust, and to learn.

He wandered back to the fire, and looked briefly across to Wily and Nim. But it was Hoom whose trust he needed most to win, and accordingly he sat down next to the Telmarine leader, and began:

"So tomorrow we climb to your land, Master Hoom."

"Aye." There was a pause. "We do so."

"You will be glad to see it again?"

"I will!" It was said with a spurt of dark energy, and Reznar leaned forward from Hoom's other side to add, more kindly, "Your land is not a land for Men, King Edmund."

"Men have lived there before, and will again," Edmund replied, thinking of the returning exiles. Susan would by now have met with them; more skills and knowledge would be returning to Narnia; perhaps even now things were changing there. "Narnian Men and Women both, to join with all our other peoples."

"Your other peoples are no fit company for Men." Hoom said, heavily. "They will drag you down, king. The half-beasts, and the ghosts..."

"Satyrs and Centaurs? They are not half of anything!" Despite himself, Edmund felt his temper beginning to rise. "They are wholly and wonderfully themselves!"

"Wholly and wonderfully bestial!" Hoom replied, with venom, and the other Men looked up with interest.

"Watch the mudsmoke," Edmund heard Wily mutter to Nim. So they were trying to bait him; Edmund bit back his first response, and replied more calmly, "As to who is bestial, or like a dumb beast, Master Hoom, I would say those who kill a thinking being act more like an unthinking wolf or tiger than like Men."

"Pah!" Hoom kicked at the fire and sent up a flurry of burning ash. "First find your thinking being and we may talk of this, Lord King!"

Edmund nodded sombrely, without words. In two days' time, perhaps, or four days, at the latest, going by the Ravens' news, he should find them.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The Queen Susan stood on the western battlements, her eyes fixed on one dark speck in the bright sky, and her whole being tensed with barely-contained gladness.

"I can see him!" she called down behind her, and the dark, furry bundle that was Mrs Beaver stumped heavily into view, puffing a little as she came. "Them blamey steps, dear... be the death of me. Which of them is it?"

"Brightbeak! That is, it must be. Diamond said he'd be here by now, and..." Her face glowed with elation. The speck had grown considerably larger as she spoke, and was now perceptibly a bird, a bird whose broad black wings were stroking steadily towards them.

She looked at Mrs Beaver again, and laughed. "We did not _ever_ think we'd need a code for this! He'll be so glad, if we can get the news to him."

Mrs Beaver came a little closer, and took the Queen's hand in one paw, quietingly. The Queen understood at once, and responded.

"Yes, I know. He'd be glad for me as much as anything. It was me who worried the most. But honestly, Mrs Beaver, if it had been that way, if the roof had been made by ..." She took a breath. "... _killing_ , I would have managed." She held the paw tightly for a moment, and then went on, "When I thought it was, and when I thought my Gift... I thought maybe it was meant for me to learn to be humble..."

"Tscha!" said Mrs Beaver. "You come to me when you've turned proud, dearie, and _then_ I'll show you how to be humble. In the meantime, better you learn not to worry so much."

"Well, I won't _now_!" she answered blithely, and carolled into the air: "Brightbeak!"

Brightbeak was close now, so close she could see the separate long pinions splayed out from the fore-edge of the wing, and the intense drive of the whole short, level body, motionless between those strong-beating vanes, but speeding towards her - and then swivelling in mid-air, and the wings angling, and... Brightbeak dropped his legs down to land perfectly on the battlements, spread his wings wide once more in salute, then settled them again into their proper ink-black sleekness.

"Majesty."

"Welcome, Brightbeak! What news of my brother?"

"He is at the base of the Wall. He has sent greetings to you and the Queen Lucy. He will travel as fast as might be to the northern fringe of the upper forest, where the Free Herd wait."

"If you can ever speak to him, Cousin, tell him..." She stopped for very delight at the news. "Tell him it is well, that _everything_ is well, and that... that the roof of Cair Paravel was made from _tree-ivory_ , from amazingly hard nuts, truly, like ivory, brought in tribute by the Lone Islanders, for years and years... and oh, tell him it was _lovely_ to meet all the Marshwiggles, too, and all the others from the far corners, and... _everything_ is well!"

She stopped again; Brightbeak cocked his head sideways, silent in respect for an emotion he did not quite understand, and the Queen turned again to her older friend.

"To make me humble... that's how I _would_ have felt, But now every time I look at that glorious roof I'll think of the Islanders, and, oh, Mrs Beaver! Lion bless them and their palm-nut-ivory!"

"Lion bless'em for putting your sweet mind at rest, anyway," said Mrs Beaver.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Can you climb, little king?" Hoom growled.

"I hope so."

They were at the rockface, at a fissure not seen in the afternoon shadows, but visible now in the morning light, a thin fissure, at the base an arm's-length wide, but broadening as it went up to maybe twice that, till it reached a ledge high above them.

"Then watch me! and learn!" Nim cried, and leapt up the first few feet, catching himself by pressing with both forearms and knees against the walls, inching up a little further, then grinning, twisting seemingly in air, and stopping again, pressed across the gap with his back against one wall and his feet against the other.

"Learning, king?" he asked, rallyingly, and began to hitch his way upward in short, jolting movements. From behind, Edmund heard Wily's response: "Smoke'll go up a chimney, all right, Nim, you just get your _self_ up!"

Nim laughed, but leapt again, now straddling the gap, balancing with one hand to the rockface, and began to work his way steadily up, pressing hard with his feet and using his hands only to touch, for balance, it seemed. Close to the top of the fissure, unnervingly high, he paused. No-one below spoke now; Edmund felt intense focus in both Hoom and Wily; Reznar's fists were clenched hard, and his eyes were staring.

One breath... two.

It seemed that Nim was gathering his resolution, or waiting until he felt the moment was precisely right, then, terrifyingly, he sprang again, flinging himself across the emptiness, grabbing, clutching with one hand, his feet dangling down into the chasm - and then one more jerk and his body swung, and he was clinging with two hands, and his legs were kicking and his body had somehow disappeared... onto a ledge, Edmund realised. And then the kicking legs slowly withdrew themselves, and Hoom gave a " _hoof!_ " of relief, Reznar laughed aloud, and Nim's face peered down at them, tiny and triumphant.

"And so we go."

He heard the voice, but he hardly knew whose. Wily's, he supposed, but... Edmund felt his insides squirm. Were they mad? Did he even have the length of body to do as Nim had done? This was... No. Possible or not, it was what he had to do.

 _Aslan_ , he thought to himself and walked to the base of the chimney. A clap of hard laughter broke behind him, a shout came from above.

"Not _you_ , little king!"

He looked up; Nim was pulling something out of his pack; a rope came tumbling down, and puddled at his feet in a jumble of grey - but already Nim was hauling it up, so that the end wavered just about knee-height, and now he saw that it was a leather rope with one broad slash cut through the hide to make a sling, or a seat.

"You have walked well, Easterner, but to climb - we have a better way for you! Get in."

 _Easterner_ put a gulf between them, and Hoom's voice was rough, but there was something of a comradely tone there as well. And the other Men - they were all amused at his plight, and he well understood that. The Narnian King, who had so recently stood on the dais above the Fair, and received the cheers of the crowd, to be hauled up now like a sack of barley! But his chagrin was the least of it... _Forgive me_ , he said, silently - what Beast could have given such strong and long unbroken leather, but an Elephant? _Forgive me. I vow no more of you will die this way._ And settled himself into the sling.

Even then, his humiliation was not complete, as Hoom flung himself casually alongside, between the grim, golden-grey walls of the fissure and, by the same bracing and edging method as Nim, ascended, while lending one strong arm to keep Edmund's sling away from the rockface. Not even a sack of barley - it seemed he was a baby to be kept from bruising a hip or shoulder.

But after all, the main thing was to get there, to find the Elephants and to get them to safety; he arrived at the ledge in fair humour, and thanked both Men in plain sincerity.

And it seemed he was not quite the only one; the rope was lowered again for Reznar, who came up, indeed, under his own power, but wore the sling for safety's sake, apparently. Wily, though, laughed up at them all, and spat on his hands and clambered up clinging fingers-and-toes to the rockface, like a lizard.

"See what Men of Telmar can do, king!" he announced triumphantly when he got to the ledge; the faces of all four Telmarines were exultant.

 _Yes_ , thought Edmund, _you climb well, but your triumph makes it plain that this was no common achievement, and Reznar has shown me that not all Telmarines_ _climb as well._ It was not possible, he decided, that those twelve tusks, and all the men carrying them, had come or gone by this route.. Therefore... there was another way into Telmar. But that was something he was content for the time to know, and to have the Telmarines unknowing that he knew.

He turned his attention to the Cliff and its challenges. The ledge was large; it dropped away to nothing deeper into the fissure, but widened as it ran back around to the east-facing Cliff. Nim led the group around, and the king was able to look out and for the first time see all of Narnia spread before him, forests and rivers and hills and the still-recovering farmlands. And Table Hill - which he knew only by the four blood-red banners which floated above it, too small to make out at this distance, but that a fluttering caught his eye - and Beruna he could make out, further away, along the Great River, but though he tried, he could not see the Cair for the brightness behind it. He felt oddly cut off by that, that his home was lost to view in the morning sun.

Nim tapped him on the shoulder, and he saw one hand had snaked around his back, as well, presumably to hold him in case he jerked and lost his balance.

"Keep your eyes for climbing, little king. For this next step we climb as Wily did; I go first, and you after. Best you wear the sling again."

He did not argue. It was terrifying enough to be climbing this rockface even with that sling, and knowing that Nim was above and would maybe be able to take the strain if he fell, and with Hoom just below him, shouting instructions - "above you, to your left!"- and guiding his feet sometimes to some tiny crack as a toehold, sometime to some offset for the other foot.

By mid-morning his breath was coming in gasps; to let go of each desperate, scanty handhold to reach high and clutch at the next took all of his resolution, again, and again, and to pry himself away from pressing desperately against the rock to inch up, to straighten the leg which held his weight and inch up just a little farther - each time he thought he would not be able to do it, and each time he forced himself, and did. But at a cost - by the time they reached the second ledge, he was exhausted and trembling.

Nim, however, did not jeer or jest as he gripped his arms and hauled him onto the ledge.

"You have done well, king. Rest now, as the others join us." was all he said.

So perhaps the climb, Edmund considered as he rested, perhaps it really had been as difficult and frightening as it had felt. Long-legged Reznar, at any rate, also came up with the sling around him, and slowly, though his greater stretch managed to move between handholds and footholds more easily.

That second stage had been, it turned out, the hardest part of the whole day's climb, though the rest was slow, hard work, with first Nim, going ahead, then Edmund being carefully tutored up each passage, and then Reznar, with Hoom and Wily coming behind. The sun had moved past overhead, and shadows were across most of Narnia, before they were at the top, and he was standing on shaky legs, able at last to turn his face from the rock, and look out to the east.

And now at last, too, he could see Cair Paravel, all its western windows ablaze in the low rich afternoon light, glowing like a jewel below the narrow silver crescent of the moon, a crown to the shadowed land. Cair Paravel. He took the sight as an omen for good. There he had had been made king; this journey now was his kingship in action. He drew in one long inspiriting look, and then turned, as the others clambered up over the cliff-edge, to take his first full view of the land of Telmar.

He saw a wide, well-grazed shelf of country, a plateau, running right from the edge of the Great Cliff, back to a forest of huge trees and dark shadows, pierced by those same low beams of the afternoon sun. The land rose higher yet behind the forests; he could see far away higher ranges that looked almost black in their own shadow, and behind those what looked like peaks higher yet, where some slopes - snowy slopes? or glaciers? - glowed rosy in the light. The plateau, and then the trees, and range upon range of mountain - it was a sight of heart-shaking majesty and strength.

"Well, little king?" came Hoom's voice, ringing with challenge as well as pride.

Edmund turned, smiling.

"It is a very fair land, Hoom. A land blessed, as surely my own. Truly, the Stars do smile on you, as on us."

Hoom's face hardened. "We do not have gold on our river-shores for the picking, nor the iron rocks! We have our own kind of wealth, _when we can trade in it_."

"Hoom... I will not begin my sojourn here, and before these forests, with quarrelling! Let us not speak of trade tonight."

"Not tonight, no," Hoom conceded. "But tomorrow you will journey with me to see the elephants I spoke of, and to see for yourself that they do not speak, so that the trade road through Narnia can be opened to us henceforward."

Edmund felt the day's weariness catch him suddenly, to be beginning so soon the wrangling that he had known must come. But there was no help for it, so...

"I do indeed want to see those elephants, but not tomorrow. Our bargain was that I could travel through your land _where I would_. Tomorrow I travel to the north-west through the forest, to find the Herds which roam freely, and to talk with them."

Hoom laughed, and Edmund saw incredulity on all four of the faces looking at him.

"Not possible, little king! You would lead us a wild chase wandering in the forest like a firefly, chasing you know not what you know not where."

He did know where. The Ravens' flights had spelt out for him day by day, in distant swoops and glides and sudden drops, _exactly_ what were the movements of the Herd, in which direction they went, how many half-days' travel they might be, practising on the whole trek through Narnia the wordless code they had devised, as he had practised back to them his own enacted code - but that was not knowledge to share with Telmarines.

Therefore... to force them on this "wild chase", he needed to force acceptance that he was not the _little king_ , the child who had been cossetted on that day's climb, but in all earnest _one who ruled_ , and whose ruling on this journey meant the entire economic future of Telmar.

He crushed down in himself the openness and joy which had come from the sight of the forests and the mountains, making himself utterly inflexible, putting all the iciness he could command into his voice.

"Think of it as you will, Hoom; your thoughts are not my concern. This was the bargain you made with my brother the High King, for _one single trade journey_ through Narnia: I travel where I will through these lands. Come with me or come not; I go tomorrow to the north-west."

"I will come!" Hoom smashed down his pack to the ground, ill-temper making him clumsy, where he was usually a deft-moving man. "You will not wander alone in our land, Easterner!"

"So be it." If the Elephants were to speak, it was better that they spoke incontrovertibly in front of Telmarine witnesses, better that their intelligence be indisputable. "But for now, I think this is not a good place to bivouac tonight. Shall we not move closer to the trees?"

**o-o-o-o-o**

The next morning the Ravens' message was plainly written in the sky - the Herd was less than three half-days' journeying away, on the fringe of the higher forest lands. So close! An incredulous excitement fizzed up in Edmund; he could have laughed aloud with it.

He packed with a light heart, trying hard to keep an unmoving countenance, as befitted the king he had been the night before, but wondered as he did so: was this how Lucy felt, _all the time?_ He thought it must be, thought wonderingly and a little enviously that this must be how she perceived the world, every day. And now, he too - he could have almost - _would have_ if these Telmarines were not here! - exploded into action as she did, action for the sheer pleasure of the day; he thought of her as he knew her best, dancing or running or flinging herself at whichever joyous Narnian was there to be hugged, or climbed, or swum with, but - he caught himself smiling and stopped - better not to think of her joy, better to be again the stern _Easterner_ king.

Nevertheless, it was hard not to enjoy the morning's walk. The Telmarines no longer set a punishing pace; perhaps they had pushed so hard before, to be away from a country they were uneasy in, or even afraid of? Whatever the reason, the more easy speed made for a more pleasant day, and though the summer's day was warm, or even hot, walking on level, mossy ground under majestic trees was very welcome after yesterday's rigours. As well, the Telmarines, or the humbler two, at any rate, were calmer, and, simply, happier than they had been. Hoom stalked along, glowering, and gangling, anxious Reznar seemed not to want to displease his senior by enjoying the day too much, but Nim and Wily, though they spoke little enough, were in high spirits, and nudged and teased each other as they walked.

Once, and then again, Nim ran off to one side, out of sight, for minutes at a time. Both times he came back with some forest food - a kind of tree-fungus the first time, which he showed to Wily with a self-congratulatory quirk of his brows, and a ragged bunch of wild fresney, the second time. "Stop that!" Hoom snarled, the second time.

"You forage like a woman!" Then, in a lower tone, jerking his head towards Edmund, "Would you shame Telmar, to be so womanish at such a time?"

Nim pulled a wry face, but seemed content to be called womanish; he flashed a covert grin at Wily.

"We will be glad of his foraging tonight, I do not doubt," Edmund commented, calmly, and then, "This plant grows in Narnia, too, Nim. Why did you not gather it there?"

Nim grinned, and seemed on the verge of speaking, but Hoom cut across him, sourly. "And have you accuse us of stealing Narnian property, as you will try to say about our elephants?"

"Ah, but you go too fast for us there, Master Hoom," Edmund offered, in cheerful bantering, "I think we must wait to see whose the _Elephants_ tell us they are!"

Nim openly snickered at this, and Wily seemed to grin. Hoom opened his mouth to reply, when a wordless shout from Reznar jerked all eyes his way. He was a little ahead of the rest, and stood pointing further ahead still, and to the left.

There was a shape, a large formless something, very distant, through trees; Edmund could not be sure... but Nim and Willy and Hoom had all shouted as well, and now the shape turned, suddenly, and sunlight glinted unmistakeably on tusks, and Edmund could discern the trunk, the uncertainly wavering movement at the edge of the shape that was the trunk. Not the Herd, but one single Elephant, alone, and a male, therefore, judging from the Ravens' reports.

Edmund felt choked with excitement; he began to run, and only then noticed that Hoom, and Reznar and Nim and Wily had all begun running as well, running and shouting, and then saw - _so soon!_ he thought despairingly - that he was being left behind, he was stumbling, the last of them, the sweat was stinging in his eyes, and his confusion and excitement was being swallowed by a pounding fear of what these Men, these hunters, and dealers in ivory, might try to do, to this solitary Narnian, before the very eyes of the King who had sworn to protect him.

Then, from far away, he heard a thin, high bellow, and the shape had turned, again, and was plunging through the dappled green of the forest, and into the shadow between the trees, and was gone.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vegetable ivory!** You can read all about it, and how it has been used as a substitute for animal ivory for at least a century and a half, at http://waynesword.palomar.edu/pljan99.htm and elsewhere. I was really excited and happy to find out about it.  
>  **Wild Fresney** is mentioned in _The Last Battle_ , Chapter Seven, where it is described as: "a Narnian weed... which looks rather like our wood-sorrel but tastes a good deal nicer when cooked. (It needs a little butter and pepper to make it perfect...)"  
>  **I have started more hares** than I will chase in this story; that is, I won't be following up the stories of Peter and the patrol, or Susan and the Exiles, or why and when Felimath switched from harvesting the vegetable ivory to grazing sheep; from here on it's just about the Elephants. :)


	8. Patterns in the Sky

**The Ivory Merchants**

**Chapter Eight: Patterns in the sky**

**It was the first he had seen** of the Elephants he had come to save, and now it had gone. Edmund's excitement crashed in an instant into utter breathless blankness, and then the blankness was as quickly flooded over with frustration and rage - rage he was hardly aware of, until he heard his own voice screeching at them to stop! _stop!_ and a string of invective - _bastardsbastardsuselessbloody..._

His mind seemed split in two; somewhere inside, part of him was listening dispassionately to this outbreak, and observing himself standing stiffly, with his hands grasping futilely at empty air; somewhere, his own cool voice was noting that _this won't help_ , even as the words were being torn from him.

No. _Had been being_ torn from him. With an effort he choked down the anger, forced his hands to relax. Ahead of him their faces were turning. He hoped they hadn't heard, not too much. The King of Narnia in peacetime, screaming like an Ape in battle - but that too, the self-reproach, he choked back. The present need was not to castigate himself, but to retrieve the situation. He set his face in a calm hauteur, and set his stance to be that of a king, waiting for unsatisfactory and forgetful servants to remember their duties.

They would be compelled to return, he calculated, by their own resolve that he should not be alone in their land - and yes, they were coming back - slowly enough, but they came. Nim and Wily, as they approached, looked at him with shrewd, curious eyes; Reznar farthest back, seemed plainly puzzled, as if he did not understand why there should have been anger from the Narnian guest, but Hoom understood well, and came breathing anger for anger. Edmund knew he had to act quickly to maintain control.

"Was this a _game_ to you, Men of Telmar? A _boy's_ picnic?" He threw all the scorn he could into the word, chancing that as the Telmarines seemed to oppose Beast and Man, and Woman and Man, they would also oppose Boy and Man, and find shame in the attribution - that as they despised dance ("only fools and children dance" Hoom had said to Haelwisse, back at the Fair) they would react against the notion of play. Sure enough, Hoom's face darkened, but before he could speak Edmund swept on.

"Understand this, Master Hoom, that the next time we see an Elephant you will stop, and let me approach him alone. You will approach only when and as I give the word, that you may," he narrowed his eyes and spoke with heavier emphasis, " _hear the Elephants speak_."

"They do not speak!" Hoom shot back instantly, furiously, and exactly as Edmund had intended. Distracted by the last words the king had spoken, Hoom had tacitly accepted the first.

"I do not bandy words, Master Hoom. I have noted that your fellow there," he glanced with a show of contempt at poor callow, lanky, kindly Reznar, "began that unruly uproar. Should it happen again I will know that Telmar does not intend to deal honestly with Narnia."

He let those words hang in the air for the space of a breath, as they digested the implicit threat that such outbreak would be deemed sabotage, and would see Telmarine hopes of a trade road vanish completely. Then, with the appearance of putting the whole incident firmly as past: "We will return now to the course I set."

That was, to the direction the Ravens had shown hours back; he hoped the Herd had not moved on, or had not sensed or heard the shouting and chasing which had driven the first Elephant away. But now was no time to show hesitation, so he turned again that same way; if he needed it, the Ravens and their flight-patterns would spell him out a new way.

**o-o-o-o-o**

All day Hoom would scarcely speak to him, and their meal that night was a near-silent one, though made tasty by the forest-food gathered by Nim, earlier. It was only after the meal that Reznar spoke, hesitantly, but with determination: "King, I regret that my shouting frightened the elephant today. I saw it angered you."

Edmund nodded acknowledgement.

"But, King, do you not see... the fact that the beast ran shows that it is not a thinking beast, as you have thought?"

"How so? Who would not run, set on by a group of hallooing strangers?"

Reznar looked unconvinced, and Nim snorted in derision. Edmund had to remind himself that they lived above the Cliff, where no such group of strangers had ever come. They think themselves fearless, because no-one has ever threatened them, he thought, wryly.

He tried again. "Think! If a strange and unknown animal appeared, and ran at you, bellowing, would not flight be the sign of wisdom?"

"But we are Men, not animals," Wily objected.

"And if they know you for Men," Edmund pounced, "will they not know you for hunters? Is not flight the wisest move, for one who _thinks_?"

They exchanged uneasy glances, all seemed disconcerted by that, but Reznar returned again to argument.

"But there has been no hunt of such a beast in all my lifetime, or our fathers'. The great beasts like that, with long tusks, have moved unmolested for many years now."

Edmund remembered; this had been told to him at the Fair. Their leader, Capun, had decreed that the hunting for ivory should stop when the Winter had blocked the trade routes.

He began to speak, but he was cut off by Hoom, speaking angrily and definitively.

"We see they are animals, and _less_ than man because they wander without reason through the forest. What greater sign can there be? Beast _wander_ , Men go where they know."

Reznar and Nim nodded, as if what Hoom had said was unarguable, and Nim leaned across the fire to say, earnestly, as if instructing a baby, "All things are in order, King. That which cannot move, and that which moves without reason, and Men who move with reason, and Stars."

"That which cannot move?" Edmund queried.

Nim grabbed up the remnants of the wild fresney. "These! All things are in order. The animals are greater than these, and men are greater than the animals."

"And womanish men gather growing things, and true men hunt animals!" Wily muttered, grinning and poking slyly at Nim.

Ah. Some things about Telmarine ways and thinking were beginning to be clear, Edmund thought - also that not all Telmarines held to them with Hoom's angry passion.

"Women deal with plants, and men deal with animals? And animals are higher than plants, and men are higher than women?"

They looked at him, all somewhat puzzled at his denseness. It seemed that that was too obvious to need saying.

"And moving in an ordered way is a sign of wisdom?" He was beginning to see why the Telmarines were uneasy in wild Narnia.

"Look you, Easterner!" burst out Hoom. His teeth were clenched, and he seemed almost shaking with passion. "What is the highest of all things?"

"Tell me."

"All Men know this! The _Stars_ are the highest of all things." He glowered, incredulous and angry, at the king, then looked away into the dark, and began again, as if to himself: "Have they not guided the fathers of our fathers, did they not bring us safe through darkness..."

His voice began to take on the rhythms of a chant, and Edmund realised that he was on the edge of what the Telmarines saw as sacred mystery. He was silent, remembering how Haelwisse had unwittingly offended, in Narnia. Reznar spoke, quietly. "He speaks true, King. In the most ancient times, our songs tell, it was the Stars which guided us. We had wise men then who could look at the stars and tell which way to go, and what weather was coming, and how to seek safety."

Hoom's chant had died away, and his eyes had closed. They opened suddenly now and glared at Edmund.

"The Stars do not wander like unknowing beasts, they move in wisdom, and bring _knowing_ to Men. Men live by the Stars; they know and have order. Thus it is right that they rule over beasts, who have no order."

There was much to think over, there, but nothing to be gained by challenging on such matters, so late at night. Edmund contented himself with:

"Tomorrow, we will find the Herd, and I will ask them to speak with you, and you will see that Beasts also know and have wisdom, though they may move in ways too subtle in their order to be seen at quick sight. For now, good night."

**o-o-o-o-o**

It was not the morrow, but the morning after, that they saw the Herd. They saw them far off, and though the Telmarines obeyed Edmund's order, and stayed behind him, and were quiet, the Herd would not allow an approach, but moved away, melted into the forest and were gone.

Hoom's triumph was silent, but very clear to see. Nor did the other Telmarines speak, though they exchanged glances which said much.

Late the same day, they again saw the Herd in the distance. Once again, the Herd moved away as the Men attempted to pursue. This time Reznar edged close, and spoke quietly, and even placatingly, to Edmund.

"You see, King? They are no more than beasts, wandering."

Edmund did not reply, but thought the more. There was no help for it, he decided. He needed to speak with the Ravens. Well, he could risk it; the Telmarines had slackened their watching, as they became more convinced that his mission was futile and that he would need to admit defeat. That evening his enacted code - star-jumps, push-ups, knee-bends - brought the day's Raven fluttering unseen, to a low branch in the darkness. The king moved away from the fire, close to the shadows; he no more than breathed his words, but it was enough.

"Find why they will not let me near."

Three silent beats, and Sootfeather was gone; the men had not yet settled to sleep, when a single croaking call alerted the king that his messenger had returned. She could not whisper, but she managed a low, breathy rasp.

"They say: Not while these Men are by. These Men have stolen children. Not while these men are by."

_Stolen...?_ Not just long-ago hunts for ivory, but... realisation of the double-speaking of the Telmarines came like a thunderclap: Reznar's assurance that "great beasts like that, with long tusks, have moved unmolested for many years now..."

Yes, the great Beasts were safe, but what of the children, the Calves... had _they_ moved unmolested? And what became of them? The slave-elephants which hauled the logs, or those who had turned and turned the great capstan, or hauled ferries back and forth across rivers? Not great Beasts bearing tusks, but stolen children, hunted as babies, cut out from the Herd and turned into _slaves?_

The king felt his resolve become iron-hard. He spoke through clenched teeth, and unwarily.

"Tell them I will meet them any way they will. Tell them this will not..."

"King? You speak?" It was Wily's voice.

Soft movement, dark wings stroking the air; Sootfeather had gone.

"No." he called back, then "I said, it is time for sleep, I think."

And he returned to the fire, but between fury and hard thinking, he slept ill.

Sootfeather returned the next morning, no longer to use speech, but calls and signal-flights.

Edmund watched, covertly, as he packed up for the day's walk, and spelt out, slowly, the message. A rapid stuttering call. _They will meet you._ A swoop to the west. _By night._ A sudden drop. _Be ready._

**o-o-o-o-o**

It was a moonless night; the right night for covert meetings, when darkness hid anything beyond the closest of the trees around. The king lay unsleeping, straining his ears to hear; around midnight, there was a single beak-clack - sign enough. Silent as the smoke they called him by, he slipped from his place, and crawled into the dark, trusting that he would be guided.

Once well away from the sleeping Men, he stopped, stood, and listened again. Sure enough, a faint wafting of air hinted the way, a sound of soft wing-beating. He trod as silently as he knew how, forward into dark, between tall guardian trees, and listened again. Again that almost noiseless movement of the air; again he moved forward, a shadow in shadow, and stopped.

Nothing.

No sound. But a vague impression of a presence, of an unseen bulk...

He nearly cried out. Something heavy, solid and strong had curled around him, gripped him, and pulled him irresistibly forward. The trunk of an Elephant, he knew in the same instant - but he had never before realised how frighteningly powerful an Elephant's trunk could be.

It took all his self-control to yield, to let himself be taken, drawn into the dark, dragged off his feet by that overpowering strength. He heard one _hooff!_ of breath expelled, and then he was aloft beside a huge head and moving silently and fast, through invisibility.

He could not see where they were going, though after a time he began to make out the outlines of the head close by him - the bony forehead, the swell of the cheek where the tusk emerged, the eye. The eye did not look at him; the Elephant held him without recognition and without warmth. He felt chilled, and then reproached himself; had he expected to be welcomed and fawned on as a rescuer?

Then the Elephant stopped. He was set down. Dimly outlined by the starlight against the ghostly trees, he saw looming shapes, the shadowy, indistinct forms of the Herd. For a moment there was silence, then one moved forward from the rest, and spoke, with hard, bitter authority:

"We have come. We have met you as you have asked, for the sake of old memories. What do you want with us?"

No. They were not going to fawn on him as a rescuer. This task was harder than he had thought, and finding the Herd was apparently only the beginning of it.

"You know why I have come. I want to give back to you peace and safety in your own land."

The lead Elephant spoke with a quiet intensity. "What is _our own land_?"

"Narnia was your land, but I come to bring you safety in that or this or any land."

"Safety!" The intensity became in an instant barely-repressed violence; her trunk lashed, and her ears spread out, making her seem suddenly much larger and more threatening. "Safety! For three days _I_ alone have held back the Herd from trampling you and your fellows to death, in anger that so small a group of Men would dare to come close to those they have so injured. The Herd and the young males who roam away and the Bulls who speak from far, they have all wanted to tread you, all five, mash you into pulp, like fallen fruit. Your safety thus far has been _my_ gift, Man. Who are you, to claim you have safety in your gift?"

He did not doubt for a moment that she spoke truth; around him the first cold indifference seemed to be shifting into hostility. He wondered if his answer would deepen the hostility into threat.

"I am King Edmund of Narnia, and I have come because Narnia is now free..." He noticed as he spoke that the Elephants had begun to sway, lifting and then tramping down with their feet. "... and your Kings and your Queens, and all your cousins would see you return to us, to be safe from the terrible wrongs you have suffered."

She set aside most of that speech. "You claim kingship over us, _Man_?"

"I have been crowned king of Narnia by Aslan himself, who is King over all of us. But that is neither here nor there; it is not my kingship which is important here, but your peace and your freedom."

" _Aslan..._ " " _Aslan..._ " A shivering went through the whole Herd. One young, high-pitched voice quavered, saying "Is he _true_ , Nharhh? Is _Aslan_ true?".

So.. he had at least a name to use. "Lady Nharhh, it seems much has been forgotten, but Aslan is indeed real, and ..."

Another shiver went through the Herd, but not hostility, this time; there was a _hrroomm_ , blowing, blurting sound with their lips, which sounded unsettlingly like muffled laughter.

The lead Elephant spoke, and certainly her voice showed amusement. "My name is Rummornornarhh. The child called me _Nharhh_ because I am a mother here. We are all _Nharhh_ , all the mothers here are _Nharhh_."

"If I have offended, I am sorry. I did not intend disrespect."

She moved closer, and nudged at him with her trunk, pushing him back, He staggered, but managed to keep on his feet.

"You have not offended. But it is very long since a Man has called one of us _Nharhh._ "

The mother-Elephants around huffed gently and swayed. Edmund thought they were still amused, but that he had, blunderingly, managed to do something right.

"What may I call you, then?"

"Call me by my name."

"Lady Rummornornah, I have come first to tell you that Narnia is free now, and that a welcome awaits you in Narnia, that we yearn to have the Lost back among us, free from the threat of the hunting."

They were listening now, at least - listening quietly, with their heads down. There was a stillness, and then Rummornornah spoke, soberly, though still with a shade of amusement in her voice.

"You yearn for the Lost. But how could you take us to Narnia, when there is the Cliff between us and that land?"

Her question - not _if_ , but _how?_ \- flooded him with the energy of hope; he was so close now, to success.

"Any way we need to, Lady, if I have to dig the road myself! But I think you have come here by some road, once, and therefore there will be a way back."

She huffed amusement at that, too, but replied: "It is very long ago that we came here, before the Calormenes had extended so far to the west, and before the pleasant land of Tibar became desert. Once there was a road far south of here, but no more. There is no way for us to leave this land and its hunters."

"I swear to you all here present, as I am King of Narnia, that we will find a way, or make a way, to have you free from the threat of hunting."

"Free from the threat of hunting? You draw our hearts with that thought, Man. These Men here are vicious, clever hunters. It is not only the death they once dealt to the young males, and even the great Bulls. Not only that. Many times they have come in strength, and with fire, have surrounded, and..." - her voice dipped, from shame, Edmund thought - "...panicked the Herd. The Nharhh mourn for many Calves, many Calves lost over years."

The lowered heads were very still; from among them came a sound so deep that it seemed to shudder rather than be heard, shudder in the air or the earth, he could not say which.

Rummornornah breathed out a long breath, and continued. "It is long since we have heard of a male being lost; the Men have long stopped the killing. But even if they start again... You need not dig the road, Man; we will not leave. How could we leave for safety in your land when we know our captured Calves are here?"

He had half-expected this. "Then, Lady Rummornornah, I have another way. I come to ask you to meet with Men, to show them that you are indeed not dumb animals, but thinking, and feeling and speaking. Only that way can I persuade them to cease their hunting..."

Now there was another _hrooom_ , an angry rumble through the Herd, ears raised and spread, and trunks swinging threateningly.

"You ask us to prove ourselves to them, to _persuade_ them? No. We will not perform for Men. They have seen us defending our lives. They have seen us mourning our children. They see our children in captivity, caring tenderly for each other. What more do they need? They know well that we think and feel."

Another Elephant pushed forward. "They _have_ known, but now they do not want to know. In the past they knew, but they closed their minds to knowing we are their equals, because they wanted to profit by us. They closed their minds and so they closed their ears. Could they even hear our voice, now, if we spoke?"

Rummornornah tossed her head in agreement. "Narrndurrh speaks well. They have turned away from hearing, and so they cannot hear."

"But Nharhh," a younger female objected, "there are those of us who do not speak now, too. Boramurrdun, there, is one who has let drop the speech of Men."

Heads swung, to look behind Edmund at the Elephant whose trunk had held him, earlier. He looked back, blankly; clearly he did not understand.

"Lady Rummornornah?" Edmund asked, feeling as if whole new gulfs had opened under him, "Are your people beginning to let fall the gift of speech?"

Rummornornah's voice was quick and savage in reply. "We have our own speech among us, for us alone! If they will not hear us, why should we speak in their tongue? It was not our people who first dealt death."

And now he felt that the success was melting away in his hands. "No, and I know many have died, though I think not for many years. But Lady, if we cannot prove that you speak, they may begin again to kill."

"Let them kill, and die, then. Do not doubt, Man, we can kill also. We would have killed these days past, but for your Ravens."

Narrndurrh cut in again, scathingly. "The great ones of the past who died did not die alone, Man; many Men died with them."

This seemed to stir up a rumble of agreement in the Herd, and one Elephant, hitherto silent, spoke. "Bram. Great Grundurran. Those took many with them to bloody death. Mighty Hoom..."

"Hoom? One of you was called Hoom?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished them unsaid.

"You have heard the name?" Rummornornah asked sharply, and was quick to draw the conclusion. "They use our name among Men?

"They use that name." He tried, clumsily, to repair the damage. "It is true that they honour the memory of the Elephants they have killed, in naming their children."

But the anger was building again, the Herd was shuffling, snorting, trampling. Short squeals and trumpetings began to rise. From among them, one voice - he could not see whose - pierced the night. "There is no honour in theft. They steal and enslave our children, then steal our names for their own children, and you call this honour? You ask us to prove to them that we _think?_ "

His mission was ... he was failing. He was not winning these back to Narnia, nor to any peace with the Telmarines.

Rummorornah spoke with hard finality. "This is our answer. We will not leave this land, to leave our children in captivity. We will not prove ourselves to those who know well what we are, but will not see or hear. This talking is finished. Go."

His hopes were crumbling. He could not command, and he could not persuade, he could only...

Impulsively, he flung his arms wide front of her. There was only one more appeal he could make.

"Nharhh!"

And then no words. He would not insult her by imagining that words were needed.

Nor were they. The Herd was silent, and in the silence he could feel the anger and the hostility fade.

Slowly, Rummorornah's trunk swung out to him, and he felt its delicate tip caress his cheek.

"Child. Child, we, too, long for the Lost, for the ones who called us _Nharhh_ indeed. I think there is nothing you can do for us, but for your asking, and for that word, _Nharhh,_ I will say this: Find and free our children and we will hear you again." He looked at her eyes, and saw that only a deep sadness remained. "If you cannot free our children, then... you have nothing to offer us. Now, go."

**o-o-o-o-o**

The Telmarines were already stirring when he re-entered their camp. Wily looked at him quickly, and searchingly, and Hoom suspiciously, but it was Reznar who asked in plain words. He did not bother to answer, only going to begin to pack, and as he did so rapping out his commands to the scrambling Men.

"It does not matter where I have been! Up, up! We are away now, back the way we have come, and further yet, the way you would have had me go the first day. Hoom, _now_ is the time we will go to see the Elephants you call yours."

**o-o-o-o-o**

All the four days' journey which followed he pressed forward impatiently, urgent to reach the slave Elephants. The Herd roamed free, and to find them he had needed to check every morning the Ravens' patterns in the sky, but the slave Elephants had been well watched, and mapped, for months past, those who were solitary beside rivers, or working the great capstan, and those who worked in teams, hauling logs from the south-western forest. Those maps he had himself drawn and redrawn, and could summon up now, precisely, how ran the sharp, true lines on creamy parchment, and could see as well, and as exactly, how those lines fitted now against a sharper, truer reality.

First they would travel to the solitaries, he thought, the capstan Elephants first, in part because he had already suspicions about the purpose of that capstan. Then the ferry Elephants, and lastly the longer journey to the timber-hauling teams of the south-west. To find them, and find a way to free them - there was, he remembered, Hoom's promise that of the Elephants he called his own, any who could speak would be instantly freed. If he could persuade one to speak, and then the others would follow when they saw it led to freedom...and together they could travel to the south-west, and then... All the days back to the Cliff, and then south along the Cliff-edge, he fed his hopes with imaginings, striding fiercely ahead of the others, his fists clenched tensely, and in his mind seeing the joy of the Nharhh, greeting the returning Calves.

But they came to the place, and... he halted. That it was the right place was plain, but where the Ravens had seen a great wooden capstan, driven round and round by two Elephants, was only a dusty trodden circle of bare earth.

Well - it was a setback, but only a small one. The Elephants could not be far. And also, that the Telmarines had dismantled the capstans only confirmed his suspicions, that they had been used to raise and lower something - a platform, or a cage -to make a way into Narnia. So... how best to use this knowledge?

He glanced back at the Telmarines, to find that they were looking at him now with mingled suspicion and fear.

"How did you...?" began Reznar, but Hoom was quicker to recover from the shock of finding that their guest knew more than he should.

"You have led the way, Easterner," he said, dryly, "Why have you brought us here, where there is nothing?"

"I came to see with my own eyes how the Telmarines stray from plain dealing," he replied, with a fine-judged savagery. "The way we came, climbing unaided the Great Cliff, showed me much of your skill and hardihood, but this _nothing_ , which so recently was another way to conquer the Cliff, shows me more what manner of Men you are."

They were all disconcerted at that direct attack, though Wily, at least, seemed half-admiring as well, grinning a little to himself. Hoom, however, rallied, with: "We _are_ plain-dealing Men. We have spoken only truth."

"And left unspoken other truth, and have even unbuilt what was here, to conceal truth," Edmund retorted, and let that sink in for a moment, before adding, "But you see that such ways avail you nothing. So now we will go to where the Elephants are, who were used to tread this circle."

They did not argue. They were cowed by his unexpected knowledge, he thought, and led him silently further away from the Cliff-edge, back towards a belt of trees, perhaps remnant of forest which had been cleared in times past, he thought. The sun was to the west, and in his eyes, but he saw ahead, a tall timber pillar, standing high above these smaller trees.

They came through the belt of trees, out onto the further plateau, and at first he saw nothing through the dusty sun-haze, though he heard a clanking, and a dragging sound. And then, plodding out from the glare of light, he saw the Elephant: shackled, chained, with a double chain which ran back through the dust to loop around the base of the pillar.

Shambling and unseeing, it passed him by, one great foot placed steadily after another, and the chain dragging in the dust, gathering up little stones, and leaf-litter, and catching and then skipping as it was dragged again forward by the remorseless, steady, tread.

Remorselessly, round and round... Edmund fished in his brain for the animal, for the _thing_ he was reminded of... some _thing_ back in that other place, but he couldn't quite remember, something which creaked and groaned as it went, and ceaselessly, ceaselessly plodded like this. Something which worked on and on without thought, without feeling.

Without feeling. This rolling, unresting, ponderous movement was more horrible than anything he had seen yet, certainly more than the flashes of anger and hostility from the Herd. It was as if the real self inside the flesh had died, and left only this hull, endlessly shambling through dust. He remembered the Elephant who had forgotten speech, and wondered how much more this one had forgotten - could a Narnian slip back into plain animality? Nevertheless, he stepped out, as the Elephant came near again.

"Good friend! Good Cousin!"

The Elephant did not pause, did not glance at him, did not seem to see anything at all.

Behind him, Edmund heard a muttered jeering remark from Hoom, and a snort of smothered laughter from the assembled Telmarines. He tried not to notice, and extended a hand to the Elephant when he next passed, but the steady plodding did not falter, that round was completed and the next and the...

"Can he be stopped?" Edmund asked.

Reznar smiled cheerfully, went to the Elephant's head, and tugged at the chain which was anchored to a ring driven through the Elephant's lip. The Elephant stopped, but still without turning its eyes anywhere; they seemed to be almost dead, belying the life shown by the restless swaying to and fro of that huge body, and by the turning, turning, tossing of the great head.

"Cousin! I have come from Narnia to speak with you!"

But he could hear himself that the conviction had drained from his voice. The Elephant did not respond, not even a flicker of response. He could not hear, or could not understand - and if even the Free Elephants had begun to refuse the gift of speech, what hope was there here of persuading this slave Elephant, with eyes that looked at nothing, to speak, to win freedom?

"Cousin!"

But the Elephant continued to sway, turning and turning the great unseeing head, and lifting his feet, restlessly and - surely? - mindlessly. He was broken completely, the king thought; the strong body still laboured, and would labour for decades, but the mind had been broken, utterly.

"Let him go as he will," Edmund said; he was overcome by a very deep sadness.

The Elephant moved away again, and resumed its ceaseless rolling stride. The doubled chain chinked as it dragged.

Stock-still, desolate, Edmund watched. This was flesh, moving without thought. He could not save this. This was broken beyond all fixing. This was despair.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The afternoon wore into evening. They took him to a second circling Elephant. As they had been kept separate when they worked the capstan, so they were kept separate now, the king thought bitterly, now, when their treading was meaningless. His escort showed him also three ferry-Elephants, kept solitary, beside rivers to pull the ferries back and forth on clanking chains, and those, too, were shackled to the chains.

But not in any one of these could he awaken a response. Day sank into evening; night was falling as he turned despairingly from the last of the ferry-Elephants, the last to stare unseeingly past him as they all had done when he tried to talk with them. How could he free these, which had no thought left to take up freedom?

"So... will you accept now, King of Narnia, that these are Telmarine elephants?" jeered Hoom, then caught himself, and went on more civilly, "We may soon find our way to an agreement about trade, I think."

Edmund could not bear to look at the triumph on his face.

"I cannot say." He forced out words of some sort. He was here, after all, to negotiate on Narnia's behalf with these people, and still had to find some way forward for the Free Elephants. "We will rest here tonight and tomorrow begin the journey to the south-west."

"As you will," Hoom said, complacently, and slung down his pack.

"As you will, king," Reznar echoed, agreeably. "That will take us through where most of our people live; you will see some of the glories of Telmar then!"

Edmund looked up, momentarily confused; was Reznar attempting to offer _the glories of Telmar_ as a pleasant diversion from the horrors of slavery?

And yes, it seemed so; the tall Telmarine's face showed a blundering goodwill, and rough sympathy. In a low voice, he added, "I am sorry for your disappointment, King. But you judged too high of simple beasts."

Not of Beasts, the king thought bitterly. It was of himself that he had judged too high.

He had met the Herd and had failed, and found the slaves and failed. He had failed, and could only fail; he had failed even to see any self left inside the living bodies. And it was evening, and away against the western sky he could see a Raven, waiting for his nightly report, transmitted in physical twists and jerks, to the Cair.

What did he have to tell them, what of good news could he send now? Only to share the knowledge that he was not able to achieve that which he had come to do, to share the pain that he had come and failed. He could do nothing for those he had come to save.

He walked a little way away, mechanically, to begin with the usual "All's well" toe-touching. But... all was _not_ well.

He stood still, fighting to control his breathing. There were still the Elephants of the south-west, he told himself; he might still... but no. He could not send that confident, self-confident "All's well".

Tension and frustration and anger and wracking sadness welled up in him, almost choking him, and without thinking, he found himself not making those calm sweeping bends of reassurance, but instead exploding into action, with the strange death-dealing punch- _chop!_ punch- _chop!_ which the Satyrs had taught him, attacking the empty air, again, and again, and again.

And stopped, breathing hard, to find himself closer than he had thought to where Wily was feeding twigs, one at a time, into a small smudge-fire, a little away from their main campsite. The Telmarine looked at him, sidelong.

"King?"

"Yes?"

But Wily seemed not to know how to say whatever he wanted to say. He glanced up and then down again, before speaking.

"Don't... don't take it hard, King. You can't change what they are."

Even the Ravens had thought that these were not Narnians, Edmund recalled. But if he could not win the slave-Elephants to speech, the Free Elephants would not find safety. He did not reply.

"Not saying they don't think in their way." Wily, like Reznar, seemed to be trying to offer _comfort_ , the king thought bitterly. But...

"What do you mean _think in their way_? You _know_ that they think?"

"In their way. In their way. Like... See, like - they called me after... My dad died by an elephant. He was, the elephant, he was what we call a wily one. Not easy to catch. You don't... " His eyes flicked up, very quickly, and then away again - "know'em like we do, King. They can be wily, all right, but Men are wilier. Hey, King?" A quick, sly smile flashed across his averted face. "Tell you what, if I was an elephant, I don't think I'd let on I could talk, even if I could. Hey? We nearly had _you_ fooled just by saying nothing!"

A few light words, but they hit like a blow. Edmund felt almost winded. Yes. Of course. Lack of speech could mean many things. For some of them, yes, it might mean self was lost beyond recall, but for others, especially those last, where dusk had hindered close scrutiny - there was still possibility. Elephants, as well as Men, might hide things, by simply saying nothing.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Majesty, I bring..." The Raven stopped, then hopped uncertainly along the Cair battlements, where two Queens stood, waiting.

"Pryclaw?"

"Majesties, it is not clear to me. The king signalled at evening, but the message was not clear."

"Clear or not clear, tell us," said Susan steadily. "What did he signal?"

"Just one word, but many times." The Bird jerked his head sideways, and then ducked it down, as one not wanting to speak. "An ill word."

Lucy's hand slipped into Susan's, and gripped hard.

"Failure." Pryclaw looked nervously at the Queens, and said again, a little louder, "one word, many times, Majesties. Failure. Failure. Failure."

**o-o-o-o-o**  


"We have to _trust_ him."

"But we have to _help_ him. If he needs help we have to send it."

"If we had help to send, I would send it," said Susan, "but we haven't, so it comes down to _trusting._ "

"If it comes to trusting...," Lucy began, and then stopped, to begin again, "Susan, you say _trust_ _him_. But you should trust _me..._ "

"I do, but..."

" _Susan!_ " There was almost anguish in Lucy's voice. "Sister and Queen..."

Susan's head jerked up. This was Peter's title for her, used at his most serious; Edmund had sometimes used it, as he used all their titles, teasingly, but not Lucy, not ever before.

"We have to help Edmund. I am going to talk with Kirrina, and..." Lucy's eyes were searching, hoping, "trust me."

_Trust me._ There was the barest hint of a question in the words. The elder queen had a brief flash of memory: this same little sister, when Peter left, exclaiming in ecstasy and certainty that "we _all_ trust _all_ of us!"

But this was a _child_.

Her own little sister, for whom she was - wasn't she? - responsible. She was shaken with fear and a kind of anger at how _unfair_ it always was. Why did the others always seem to know what was right to do, and she alone was left wondering? But she could not refuse _trust_ , not to those eyes, not remembering that ecstasy and certainty.

Her lips felt frozen, but she forced herself to speak.

"I... am trusting you."

But Lucy was still hesitating. It was not quite enough. She made her lips smile, made her voice warm, and added the words, like a crown. "Sister, and Queen!"

And a quick, hard hug, and rushing footsteps, and Lucy had gone, to make who-knew-what plans with that unchancy little friend. Susan took a deep breath; it would be all right; Lucy had promised, after all, not to do anything "grown-up" without an adult Narnian alongside. It would be all right.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**  



	9. Breathless

His first sight of Reznar's home village took his breath away.

"We build from trees," they had told him, as they had slogged the two days' journey from where the last of the ferry elephants ( _or Elephants,_ his mind insisted _; what if he had abandoned them, and they were..._ ) hauled the dripping chains.

"We build from trees," and then they talked further about the felling of the trees, in the western forests, and the work-teams of elephants. ( _Elephants. The Ravens had said that these might be, and this would be his last chance to return some of the lost Calves to the Nharhh..._ )

"Ah, King, we have conquered both elephant and forest! There's no house being built now, or else you'd see how the elephants work for us there, too. To build a house is a great work, a work fit for Men. The roof-raising... that is a great thing to see..."

It had been no use. He had listened with less than half his mind, while the rest of it went over and over again the scenes with the slaves. The Free Elephants who would not listen unless he found and freed their Calves, the slaves who would not even seem to see him - but might after all be those he needed to free.

But still Reznar had babbled on about the village he was going to, and how, after seeing Cair Paravel they wanted to show him their great houses, and let him meet their great people, and hear the music... And Hoom, striding ahead, had not demurred, and even Nim and Wily had seemed pleased and excited, eager to show whatever it was that they thought Telmar had to offer. Houses built from trees... yes. And campfires, he expected, and goat stew and foraged forest food. A village built of forest-timber, where Telmarines and their unknown chieftain, Capun, led a rough camp-life, though adequate enough, he supposed.

 _Savages,_ the silken Calormene ambassador, Neerzat, had called them, and, yes, it was hard to see how wooden huts, where rough forest-dwellers who had not even advanced to the notion of kingship, could offer any of the gentilesse or courtesy which other peoples knew.

But then...they had come through the trees into an open space, and before him was a..a temple, a cathedral, a .. he didn't have the words for this wildly soaring magnificence, with roof upon roof, up and up in high, swooping curves, graceful and airy, almost poised for flight.

It took his breath away, and Reznar laughed exultantly, for pleasure in his amazement, Edmund thought. Indeed, they were all looking at him with the same pleasure, even Hoom, who could not forebear hitting home the message.

"Now you see, do you not, King? the difference between Men and Beasts. Did you think we lived in our home as we camped in the forest?"

And the rebuke was merited, he acknowledged, silently, even as he drew nearer, and could take in the solidity of the towering pillars, and the broad intricately-carved balcony which ran the full front of the building, high off the ground, but still far below the high-winged roofs. He had always imagined that grandeur in architecture came with stone, brick, metal and glass, the creamy stone of many-turreted Cair Paravel with its glittering windows, or Red Anvard, with its curious jade-green cupolas, or the rumoured marble courts of Tashbaan.

This place, though - this had a grandeur of its own. Even the very timber itself - he found himself gazing, as he ascended, at the solid treads of the steps, each a massy timber slab, jutted into the timber columns, but airy-seeming, with no riser between. Above, on the balcony, a small cluster of Telmarine women and men - Reznar's family, he supposed - waited to greet him, but he paused, wondering, to look at the wood of the steps. It was a type unknown in Narnia, a solid, reddish timber, whose grain ran in fascinating curls - he could not resist leaning forward to trace with his finger those whorls, curling like stormclouds, each step a wonder in itself.

Wonderful timber, and wonderfully fashioned. Yes, the visiting Telmarines had seemed rough, hard traders against the background of Cair Paravel, and the Herd had called them clever hunters, but here they were revealed as something else - as more than clever in their making, and as even... he felt a sudden misgiving... as even formidable, in their ability to dominate and use what they found around them: the Elephants, and the forest. Formidable, but also... he saw around him in the village now the reality of Telmar. He had been judging Telmar by a handful of men, of traders, all men, all, but now he was seeing a fuller life - women, families, the young and the old, some waiting to greet him, some working or about their own business in a life which he suddenly saw was much, much more complex than he had imagined. This was not a simple band of hunters and traders, a few scattered Men, suppliant to Narnia; this was a whole culture. A civilisation.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Kirrina!"

Green slippery seaweed coated the rocks, and in her haste to get to the familiar cave-mouth Lucy slithered, and banged her knee once or twice, when she almost fell, but the urgency of the moment meant that she hardly felt the hurts.

"Kirrina! It's time! He's _sent_!"

No voice replied, but that was not unusual; part of Kirrina's fascination was her half-hiddenness; even to find her felt like triumph, and to have her as a _friend_ was exciting, even when they did nothing more than dabble in the rockpools, and talk, or venture half-way back (Kirrina had never let her go any deeper) into the dark, drippy cave - and then there were the times when she had suggested things which felt very exciting indeed, like when they had joined to lure the Calormene Ambassador into getting very, very wet and muddy, after he had tried to make Susan unhappy. Though Lucy hadn't liked it, then, when Kirrina had joked (she supposed it had been a joke) about actually drowning him. Still, Kirrina - Kirrina, who could do anything at all, it seemed - had simply laughed when Lucy had objected and had obligingly dropped the idea.

"Kirrina!" Lucy stood at the cave mouth, peering in, blocking out the sunlight with both hands around her face. Slowly she began to make out a darker shadow in the shadows, seated on a rock against the cave-wall, the shape of a girl of Lucy's own size, who - Lucy could see now - was looking directly back at her.

"Why don't you ever answer? We've got to go!"

"I don't need to answer." Kirrina's voice, as usual, was brimming with secret laughter, as if she knew much more than she chose to tell. "Anyone who loves me can find me, and anyone who doesn't... Well, you have found me, Daughter of Eve. Are you still set to journey with me, and find and free the Elephants? This will not be easy."

Lucy stamped her foot.

"You know I am! This is my job, as much as Edmund's. And you promised to help."

"I did. And are you ready to go _now?_ "

Lucy touched the bottle of cordial which hung at her right side, and the dagger on her left hip, and then her chest. "Yes. I went to the Dwarfs, like you said; it's here. Should I have brought food? You said no satchel."

"Nothing that might catch in a narrow way."

"What about the cordial, or the dagger?"

"Winterfather's gifts? Never fear for those - they can go wherever I can! As for food, if we should separate, maybe you will go hungry. Do you fear that, Daughter of Eve?"

"Of course not!"

"Then we are ready, and we will go."

Lucy moved forward, treading carefully on the uneven floor.

"Is it...it is through the end of your cave? Is there a tunnel?"

"No. There is a river. Give me your hand."

"I...I'm not a very good swimmer."

"Perhaps not. But this river will not drown you. Give me your hand."

Lucy reached out and took hold; Kirrina's slim brown fingers gripped surprisingly strong, and pulling her towards the mysterious back of the cave where she had never been, and then splashing ankle-deep in water, waist-deep into a pool of dark water. The darkness had deepened, but against it Kirrina seemed more visible than before, the same Kirrina, with her clear brown skin and tumbling brown curls, and laughing, fierce, compelling eyes.

"Now, hold _tight!_ "

And then the water was higher, or else they had sunk into it, Lucy thought confusedly. It was all around them, with a growing power, rippling and tugging and swirling and rushing with irresistible strength, dragging her down, down, under a crushing, terrifying, powerful weight of dark water.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Windseer! Mrs Beaver! Forgive me... I'm somewhat distracted. My sister..."

"Queen Lucy? Majesty?"

"I don't know where she is. I wondered if you, if either of you, knew."

"No, Majesty."

"No. But there's no cause to be worriting, I'm sure of that."

"I really hope not! I've sent a Raven to Mr Tumnus. And I've asked them to scout out towards the west, and they say she hasn't gone that way, so she can't have..."

"To the west, Majesty? You have reason to think Her Majesty has left for the west?"

"The Elephants in Telmar... we all said it was something we had to do, if they were Narnians trapped there and enslaved...I know she was wanting to get help to Edmund. You heard his message."

Their two faces, so different from each other, looked at her with identical expressions of intent assessment and deep compassion.

"But she _promised_ that she wouldn't go anywhere without going with an adult, and who apart from you, and Mr Beaver...? It must be Tumnus. She must be with Tumnus... But she said... she sounded so..." The Queen's eyes flicked anxiously from one to the other of her Councillors; their silence fuelling her fears. "She sounded so _grown-up_. And she said _Trust me!_ And then... I haven't seen her since then."

Mrs Beaver laid one small, leathery paw on the Queen's arm, and spoke gently, but very certainly.

"She's not gone anywhere with Beaver, at any rate, nor Tumnus wouldn't take her anywhere, dear, not without saying to you. But what about her own special friend?"

"I'm sorry...I shouldn't be worrying either of you," said the Queen, and laughed, shakily. "She hasn't gone anywhere at all, I know, because the Ravens said they hadn't seen her. I just don't know where she is!"

Their expression of compassion did not lighten. Windseer spoke first.

"I read this matter otherwise, majesty. To me it seems, and I believe that it seems so to you also, that asking for your trust was sign that she is about her business as Queen, to care for and protect Narnians."

Susan stared at him; the attempt at laughter ebbed from her face.

"I think you're right. I do think so. But how can it be? She said she would only go with an adult, and the Ravens have seen nothing..."

"The _how_ I cannot say, but that she is about a valiant action I do not doubt. We rejoice that the trust between you is strong that she could call on it, and that you give it freely, though I sorrow that the giving brings its own price. Anxiety is a harder burden than action, Majesty. It is a right and fitting thing that the Council help you bear it."

Mrs Beaver pursed her lips.

"And to speak plain... well... the Ravens. They see all you can see from _air_ , I don't doubt. But they don't see _all_. And as for _how_ , well, there's nothing to be gained by blinking facts."

"What do you mean? What _fact?_ "

"Her own friend, love. Who else would she go with, if not her own friend?"

" _Kirrina?_ No. No... she promised. She would only go with an adult. Kirrina's only a little girl!"

"Hsshh!" Mrs Beaver pushed gently at Susan, "Not a _girl_ , dear Queen."

Windseer seemed startled. "She told you her name, Majesty? All four of you call her by name?"

"Oh, she told us part of it..." Susan brushed aside the irrelevancy. "She's got a much longer name... she was telling it to Lucy, bit by bit..."

"Oh, my dear. Oh, Windseer... " Mrs Beaver fell silent, her short, furry face working with mingled awe and sympathy.

"She pays you all great honour, Majesty, and to the Queen Lucy an honour not heard for many years."

"Who... Kirrina? What do you mean? She's only a little... Naiad."

"Not a Naiad, dear. Naiads show the sunshine on the water."

"A little water-girl, then! I don't know... whatever it is her sort's called. But she's only _little_... only young! What do you mean.. _many years_?"

"She's who she is; if she's been telling you her name, then you know it better than we do. And as to years - she's not one bound by _years_ , dear, and not bound by death, either. Not much can hold or bind that one!"

"Not bound by death?" Susan was breathless with confusion, and then with sudden realisation. "An _Immortal?_ She looks like a little girl, but she's an _Immortal?_ "

"Oh, yes, dear, like my own river. As old as Narnia itself, like the Great River. But she's... none of us knows her much. She only shows herself when she wants to be seen."

"She's a _river?_ An Immortal and a river? Not a Naiad? And _what_ river?"

"Naiads live _in_ rivers, dear, you know that," Mrs Beaver said, reproachfully. "Rivers and springs. But this one - she _is_ the river. She's like the Great River, she runs right the way across Narnia - comes down from above the Wall, and the dear knows where before that. But we none of us don't know her much. She doesn't have any Naiads, not any Beavers neither, of course. She runs on her own, that one, all the way."

"I don't understand! There's no other river which runs the length of Narnia - and where could she have taken Lucy?"

"Oh, she runs underground, dear. If you can see her - and there's plenty who can't - you must be able to see that."

"Underground!" The Queen looked aghast. "Underground! Then that's where Lucy is! Oh" and the words came out nearly in a wail, "Oh Lucy! She has gone... Mrs Beaver!"

"Now, don't you worry. Worry never helped anyone. If that one has taken to our Lucy, as she must have done... well, it's a mighty honour is all."

"But _Lucy_... she's only a child!"

Windseer's mouth quirked, but he shook away the thought, and answered seriously.

"She is a _Queen_ , Your Majesty. You have yourself undertaken the Queenship of this country, and also to be its Chatelaine. You would not stand between her and her own Queenship?"

There was a pause, and then a slow, reluctant, "No..."

Mrs Beaver patted the Queen's arm comfortingly.

"Of course not! _We_ know how you four stand by each other - let alone she's growing up fast! She's two years older now than she was when you came, and she has seen and known more than most. And _all_ our lives are in the Lion's paws, remember, no matter what."

**o-o-o-o-o**

It had not even been their main village. Capun, their chief, lived elsewhere, it seemed, and was lying so ill that all four of his travelling companions discounted the idea that Edmund might pay a courtesy visit to him. Edmund recalled that it had been Capun who had decreed some years ago - many years ago - that there should be a halt to the hunting of Elephants for ivory, and decided that perhaps age was compounding the illness; maybe death was near. Did they elect their chiefs for life, he wondered? Or even elect them at all? It was suddenly clear to him how much Narnia did not know about Telmar.

"I must see him," Hoom announced. "King, it will be a two days' journey for me." he hesitated and then continued, "Better that you rest here until I return, I think. We can all travel then to find the elephants who work for the logging."

It was a shift from Hoom's earlier insistence on being beside the Narnian king every time they met with Elephants - definitely a recommendation, not an insistence, Edmund thought, and wondered uneasily how much this was because Hoom had begun to believe that the mission to free the Elephants was failing - had already failed, and that close guard need not be kept on the visitor? It was a dispiriting thought, and even more dispiriting was that he found in himself an answering reluctance to make that last part of his journey, to see the last group of Elephants and try to win them to freedom. If he failed a third time, then he had failed indeed; it was easier to fall in equably with Hoom's suggestion.

And they would have stopped the night in the village in any case, and Reznar's family - if all these were his family - were friendly, if curious, and the thought of a meal in warm domesticity was appealing, and it was even somehow heartening to hear that it was the one he had anticipated - goat stew.

He stood to farewell Hoom, who was clearly anxious to be away quickly, and then sat back down where he had been, cross-legged, on the broad woven grass mat, beside Reznar.

"You can eat it, King?" It was Hurrdah, Reznar's tall, graceful mother.

Why not? he had wondered, and his question must have shown in his face, because she replied, courteously, "We have heard that you count beasts as brothers, and ate only plant-food on the journey. Or is it only the ivory-bearers that you hold to be like humans?"

"No. Dumb beasts are not my cousins, but all the Talking Beasts of Narnia have my love and care."

She raised her eyebrows, but made no further comment, handed him a bowl of the stew. It smelt very good, and he accepted it gratefully.

"Better than travel-rations, hey, King?" came in a sharp whisper from behind.

Edmund smiled without turning round; he knew Wily's voice.

"Nor so different, either," he said over his shoulder. There's fresney in here, and that tree-fungus, if I don't miss my guess."

"Woodcurd. Fresney'll grow anywhere, but you can thank Nim's love-life for the woodcurd; he brought it back to give to..."

There was a sound of a scuffle. Edmund grinned, but didn't turn around. Beside him, Reznar grinned too, pointedly, at the young woman sitting beside him. She continued to eat, placidly, though her colour rose a little.

It was to distract attention from herself, Edmund thought, that she looked across at him and asked, "How do you find our village, King? How does it compare to Narnia?"

"I much admire the buildings here, and the welcome that has been given me!" he answered, easily enough; the past months in Narnia had given him great experience in fielding such open - and possibly troublesome - questions. "I have had no chance to experience anything else yet."

"We will have to show you more! You are staying with us until Hoom returns?"

"Yes, if he returns in two days, as he said."

He did not miss the quick glance which passed between her and Reznar, and noted privately that whether Hoom had returned or not, he would leave in two days to find the Elephants of the timber-teams.

Meanwhile, Telmar did indeed lack the courtliness of more eastern nations; Reznar had not thought to introduce the woman, though she was apparently one of his family, and clearly close to him. Well, if the host will not, then the guest must, he thought...

"May I ask your name, mistress?"

"I am called Mavram. This Reznar is my brother. And this," she gestured to the girl who was pressing up behind her, "is Izrah, our younger sister, who is very curious about the man from the east."

Edmund laughed. The girl was a little younger than Lucy; her eyes were round with amazement.

"What would you like to ask me?" he said, but Izrah hid her face in her sister's sleeve.

"I think she wants to know why Easterners think animals can talk."

"If her brother has reported truly, she will know that he saw in the east animals that can talk."

"Half-beasts, I saw," Reznar admitted, grudgingly. "And one or two small beasts that spoke. But no elephants."

"Nor do they speak here," said Mavram, "and so the trade road will soon be open. Once Hoom has told Capun..."

"I will not speak of the trade road yet," Edmund said gravely. "That will be a matter for me to talk with your leaders after I have concluded my meeting with the Elephants."

"Reznar is a leader!" Izrah darted her face out to say, indignantly. Reznar himself looked a little taken aback at that, and Mavram seemed uncomfortable.

"Izrah!" came as a sharp rebuke from Hurrdah; he was surprised to realise she was so near. "Little girls should not speak of such things at such a time."

 _At such a time?_ Meaning when Capun lay ill, and the future leadership was in doubt, Edmund wondered. But...

"Let's talk of other matters." he said, quickly. "I have heard that Telmarine women are wise in the ways of plants, Mistress Mavram. Is it wild plants for food that you know, or garden plants?"

"You only know two kinds of plants in the east?" she mocked. "We know many here!"

"What others then?" he smiled, and Izrah re-emerged to listen to her sister.

"There are many herbs for healing, of course, but much other use as well. Do you have vines, in the east? Or berries for washing? bark for cloth, and trees for building..."

"Trees for building? Like these?"

"Yes. Our houses grow very high, do they not? Men build higher now than they did once, my grandmother says."

"Very high indeed," he replied absently. "Tell me, if women deal with trees, and men deal with animals, who controls the business of the timber-Elephants in the south-west forest?"

He heard a muted crow from behind, and "hear him! Smoky!"; evidently Wily was much amused at the question.

Mavram, on the other hand, was not. She jerked her head angrily, and said, "Women. We should control where they go and what trees they take."

"But men own the beasts, and men drive them!" came from behind, and Reznar looked uncomfortable.

"The king is tired, doubtless, and would like to rest."

Once again, it was Hurrdah's cool, strong voice, and once again, it effectively stopped the discussion; Edmund acquiesced to her suggestion, and allowed Reznar to lead him to a sleeping corner, rather like a stall in a stables. It was his first night to sleep under a roof since he had left Cair Paravel, he reflected; he would not be able to signal his usual 'all's well' tonight.

Nevertheless, he thought, things were not quite as desolate as he had feared just a few days earlier. He was beginning to know something of Telmarine culture, about their leadership, and about the divisions between men and women in relation to the timber-Elephants; he resolved that on the morrow he would make it his business to find out a great deal more.

**o-o-o-o-o**

When next she was able to think, the water was sinking down from around her; the air around her smelt damp and earthy, and somehow spacious, as if she was standing in a vast cavern. She felt her hand immovably caught, and realised slowly that it was Kirrina's strong grip which still held her; she tugged away a little, and the grip tightened in response.

"Hold tight, still, Daughter of Eve. Our journey is only half-done."

She could see nothing. She could hear the water, making gurgling, sucking sounds as it drained, and more distantly a thread, a whispering, of other noises through the dark. She peered into the nothingness, and thought she could see Kirrina's bright, intent eyes, her cheekbones and her forehead, but that was all.

"Where are we? What was that?"

"We are close to the western border of Narnia. We came through the water."

Through the water. But they had not been swimming. They had been under the water, or had been part of the water. Lucy felt a sudden breathlessness, a sick, panicky feeling; the cool spaciousness of the air was maybe a delusion, maybe she was trapped, and the dark was coming in... Kirrina's hand closed even more tightly on her wrist.

"Be calm. What is my name, Daughter of Eve?"

Kirrina's name. Lucy pulled her mind to concentrate on that, on what she had been told, away up in the open air. Open air, and just before the Trade Fair; it felt unimaginably far away. She reached down into the memory, concentrated hard, and the sick feeling began to go away.

"It's very long. Kirrina... Kirrinakgurruna. But you haven't told me all of it, you said."

"No. Nor can I yet, but you do well. Hear this now... Kitagkirrinakgurrunalon."

"Should I say it?"

"Ah! Daughter of Eve! You grow wiser by the day!" Kirrina's voice sounded exultant. "No, do not say it, but hold it ready to be said, if I ask it."

"I will." It was good to know Kirrina was pleased with her, but Lucy still felt a slight sickness; it was strange to feel so unsure of things. "You said we came through the water. Was it a river? Was I breathing water?"

"Yes, the river. As long as you hold my hand, the river is yours to live in or to travel in. We have travelled far."

"I _thought_ we were going fast!" Lucy felt more herself now, more sure of herself and of Kirrina, too, who just for a moment had seemed like someone she didn't know at all.

Kirrina laughed. "Yes, very fast! But now will come a harder part. The river travels far under Narnia, but it comes into Narnia from other lands. Do you recall that I did not play with you in wintertime, Daughter of Eve?"

Lucy felt wary again; it had been a long time of desertion, of hanging on to believing that Kirrina was still her friend, though she wouldn't come to play.

"Yes."

"In wintertime the great glaciers hold the river tight. But in the summertime, now, they let me be free, and it seeps down through rock, through the rock which the Narnians call the Wall, which marks the end of their land. You have done well, and wisely, to trust me this far. But now we must find our way through rock, which will take more than trust."

"What will it take?"

But Kirrina was already tugging again at her hand, and Lucy followed, stumbling.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Dry. Thin shadowed faces, and thin, spindly limbs, thin as twigs, but drier than any twig, long spidery limbs; they looked as if they would snap at a touch.

"Look away," hissed Kirrina. "Look down at your feet. They don't like to be looked at."

"But they are Narnians?" Lucy asked, obediently looking down.

"In a way," said Kirrina. "Shhhh..."

She could feel them now, all around. The more she didn't look at them, the more she could feel them, around her and behind her.

Kirrina spoke, but not in words, or not words Lucy knew. It sounded like a dry rustling of leaves, not like Kirrina's own voice at all. And a dry rustling response, like a soft hissing, and then a silence.

"Shhhhhh..." Kirrina said again. It felt like ages, waiting, and then Kirrina tugged her forward again, and there was a long thin crack in the rock, which hadn't been there before, a crack like a dark thread running from top to bottom of the cavern wall, and Kirrina was pulling her towards it.

"But I can't _fit_.." she began.

"You are with me and you _can!_ I have bargained with them for a way for you. You _must._ "

Lucy felt panic begin to catch at her breath again; the dark, urgent face before her softened a little.

"Did you not demand that I help you to reach these Elephants, Human Child? This is the way there."

If this was the way, this was the way. She did not see how, but maybe _-_ she was at the rock, and it was _hard_ to make her body do what she wanted it to, even with Kirrina's hand still tugging her on. But if it was the only way, then she _had_ to... and then she was inside.

It was wrong, and _not where she should be_. The rock felt - not hostile, but not her own place, _not Narnia_. She felt a terrible scraping; the rock scraped at her side, at all of her, and anyway, how could she be _inside_ the rock? She tugged back urgently at Kirrina, but it did no good; she was pulled relentlessly forward, and up, and the rock was hard, and all around her. " _We can't stop!_ " Kirrina hissed, " _Climb!_ "- and for an instant Lucy felt almost as if it was an enemy pulling at her, and wanted to fight back, to pull away and somehow get back to green grass and open air. But...

But this was the way to the Elephants, and the way Kirrina - _Kitagkirrinakgurruna..._ _-_ was leading, and somehow she _was_ moving through the rock, held by the fierce, clutching hand and fiercer eyes, and there was no help for it.

She gave in, and set aside the impossibility of it all, and began to climb, inside the rock where it made no sense to be climbing, but somehow footholds were there, and if she wasn't exactly breathing...well, she supposed she hadn't been breathing in the water, either.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Australians may recognise the mimi, the rock-spirits, from Yolngu legend and painting; they live in the high rock-country of Arnhemland. And they were written about by the late Patricia Wrightson in her YA fantasy series The Song of Wirrun.


	10. Listening to Silence

Two days. Edmund woke, on his first morning in Reznar's village, more than ever determined to wait no longer than the two days of Hoom's absence before resuming his journey to find and free the lost Calves of the Nhaarh. The dumb elephants who worked the capstans, or the ferries, who had plodded forward, solid and unresponsive as the steamrollers he dimly remembered—it seemed that he must accept that _they_ were truly Telmarine elephants. But the timber-hauling elephants—they had been seen by the Ravens showing compassion one for another, which was surely a sign that they thought and felt, and could be— _must_ be!— Narnian Elephants. True, as Nem had hinted about the ferry-slaves, not speaking did not necessarily mean unable to speak—even, he felt uneasily, unable to speak did not mean unable to think or to feel. But he had seen nothing of either thought or feeling, and for the time he must concentrate on those Beasts he had not yet seen, to try all in his power to search out the lost Calves, so that he could persuade the Nhaarh to find safety away from these hunters, before they resumed their hunt.

He could begin in two days. Meanwhile, he had set himself the task of using that time to learn all he could about this strange people who lived atop the Wall, and who, it seemed, had devised ways to descend it. The capstan near the cliff-edge—so hurriedly dismantled, and the slave-elephants taken away inland, so carefully not mentioned, while the king and his escort had climbed painfully with ropes and slings—that was plainly enough designed to lower men and supplies into Narnia. Telmar was friendly to Narnia now, and even petitioners in the matter of the trade-road, but Edmund had been king long enough, now, to realise that a nation devising a secret way to cross a border could not be left unwatched. Therefore—he would spend these two days finding everything he could about these people.

The household was already stirring; Edmund sat up and looked about him. Reznar's place lay empty, but other young men, and older men, were about, some still just rising from sleeping-corners like his own, but others apparently readying for the unknown business of their day. He could hear children, too, and an indistinct bustle not unlike a dwarf-holt beginning the day. This great house must hold more families than one, it seemed; in that it was more like a little castle, or keep. Who ruled here, he wondered? Reznar?

He rose and pulled on his breeks, tucking in his shirt and running his fingers through his hair, as the quickest way to maybe seem presentable, before he went to see what ways there were here to make himself clean for the new day. He was just turning out into the larger central space of the hall when he became aware that one of the men, an older man, a dark man, and stocky rather than tall, was standing in the shadow of the next sleeping-nook, and was watching him silently.

"Met, Highness." The words came jerkily, as if this were one unused to speech, or to graciousness.

Dark, stocky... and familiar-seeming. A man of few words, standing back... Edmund's mind flashed to a scene, many months back, to the first tentative visit of the ivory traders to Cair Paravel, to a man who had stood behind the Telmarine spokesman, Hoom. The silent, watchful brother...

With an effort Edmund reached into his memory and fetched out the man's name.

"Well met, Gul. You see that I have come as we bargained, to travel through your land."

Gul nodded, and then slightly tilted his head towards the front of the hall, as if in invitation for Edmund to walk in that direction.

It was the way he had been proposing to go, it was the way to the place where they had eaten the night before, and presumably the way to find water to wash; nevertheless, the king felt a ripple of unease that he was being guided into the path this man wanted him to take, and not allowed to wander freely in the great house. But if so, it was not the time to let his hosts know that he saw through their manoeuvrings—and in any case, he wanted breakfast.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The hard scraping of the rock was suddenly gone. Kirrina's grasp loosened, stroked gently along Lucy's forearm in a final caress, and let go. For just a moment Lucy felt as if she was falling into nothingness, felt the clench of fear on her. It felt odd, _unsafe_ , to be separate again, after travelling so far, held so tight.

"You are in air again, Queen. Open your eyes."

Lucy opened her eyes, cautiously, and then clenched them tight-closed again, against the piercing brightness of this daylight world.

"Queen? Open your eyes."

Lucy shook her head, and stood for a moment or two longer, breathing the freshness, and gradually learning to feel again the meaning of sun on her skin. Sun, but cool sun, morning sun, she decided, and the air dry but somehow clear, and yet different from Cair Paravel air, and curiously blank, despite the sharp, sweet sound of birdcalls, without the constant background shhh-shhh of the sea. Even before opening her eyes she could feel it; they were on top of the Wall.

They were standing on rocky, damp ground, not far from a belt of low, scrubby trees. She swung around, exhilarated, and looked back to the east, to the laughing morning sun, and then left and right, eagerly.

"We did it! Kirrina, you did it! Are they far away? The Elephants—are they here?" Then back again to peer into the shadows of the trees, "Are they in the forest?"

"We will find them! _You_ will find them, Queen."

Lucy paused, distracted. "You called me _Queen_. You never call me Queen!"

Kirrina laughed, and span around, her arms spread wide. "You did so _well!_ Not everyone can travel my ways and the rock way with such courage. Not since the Winter first gripped Narnia have I tried to bring any this way. You are becoming a great and valiant queen indeed, and so I will call you!"

" _You_ brought me. You're the one helping me to find the Elephants and bring them back to Narnia."

Kirrina stopped short in her twirling, grave again in an instant.

"To bring them to Narnia... do not ask that of me, Queen. "

"You... you won't help bring them back to Narnia? That's the whole reason we're here!" The words began as a gasp of astonishment, and ended as an accusing wail.

"I cannot promise that. To find them, I will help you in that if I can _._ And for that you will need to listen, not speak bitterness."

"But you won't help to bring them..."

Lucy's eyes were wide with the beginning of anger. Kirrina paused, as if to consider; her expression was unreadable.

"Queen... do you know my name?

"Yes. Part of it." Lucy's voice was choked with resentment.

"Then you know that I have trusted you."

"Yes. _Partly_."

A small smile tugged at Kirrina's lips.

"Then trust me, Queen. Believe me, it is time to listen, and not speak, if you would find your people."

It was still a struggle, but Lucy swallowed, and achieved victory enough to say, if a fraction resentfully still, "Listen what to? I can't hear anything."

"No. You need to learn to hear. Come away up near the trees; it will be easier for us both near the trees." And she led the way to softer, higher ground.

"I'm listening," said Lucy. She craned her neck, as if greater height could bring the sound of Elephants.

Kirrina laughed, softly.

"You need not stand so tall, Queen! You will need to hear with your whole body. Think _here._ " She pressed her hand flat, a little above Lucy's middle. "Here, and through your whole body. Kneel down now and spread out your hands, flat against the earth. Close your eyes again, and hear with your body as well as your ears, _inside_ your ears... Good. Listen, like that, and maybe you will hear..."

Kirrina's voice faded, and Lucy knew without looking that she had gone. Well... trust. Lucy waited, with her eyes obediently closed. It felt almost like a game, but... she squeezed her eyes shut, and _listened_. Nothing. Just the birds, calling, and... but no, birdsong was a sound coming into her outside ear— _inside your ears_ , Kirrina had said, and _with your whole body_. She tried again, hands spread wide, listening and thinking, _body, body, body..._

 _Something_ ...she couldn't hear it, but it was there. Her eyes flew open. She had heard _something_ —heard it or felt it, she couldn't say which. A wave rolling through her, or a low, low rumble... Her eyes flew open.

"Kirrina!"

And Kirrina was there, sprung from nowhere, and bright with triumph.

"You heard? You felt it?"

"Yes! _Something._ Was it the Elephants? It made me think of thunder, or... it was a _bit_ like Murmuring Valley..."

"It was not the Elephants. But you are _learning to hear_ , Daughter of Eve! Ah, bright air above the ground! See how this River has come from her hidden places, and teaches the Daughter of Eve!"

Lucy smiled, puzzled, but hopeful again. It was so hard to know, with Kirrina, what things would suddenly see her brimful with joy, or what would make her angry, or how she thought about _anything_. Still, this wild delight surely showed that they were making progress? And if she could once find the Elephants, from there it would be easy, with or without Kirrina's help.

"So can I hear the Elephants now? Can we find them?"

"Not yet. Not yet. You have not heard Elephants yet. Close your eyes, and listen again. It will be softer this time, farther away. But Queen, truly, by the time the sun is high, I think you will be ready to hear them indeed. Close your eyes again."

Lucy closed her eyes.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Gul stayed in sight or rather, Edmund supposed, kept the visiting king in sight until he had found Mavram and Izrah near the kitchens, and been taken to the water-butt and earth-closets alongside the hall. The sisters were much amused there, beside the high timber walls, to see the exercises which, he assured them he did every morning, and most nights. He chatted to them as he stretched, bent, and twisted, vigorously, in a constant stream of cheerful, enjoyable nothings to fill the air with their laughing; they did not even notice the Bird which sat silent and watching at the side-point of the high roof, and then as silently glided away again, easterly.

The older man rejoined them over breakfast, sitting a little behind Edmund and across from the two girls. He said nothing, but Edmund understood: his conversation, no less than his movements, was under close scrutiny.

He was careful, therefore, to begin by talking of matters which surely were indifferent, and not likely to raise a suspicion that he was gathering intelligence as well as seeking the Elephants. He spoke cheerfully of the breakfast provided—a thin nutty gruel, with honey alongside to sweeten it—and listened smiling to Izrah's meandering, self-important explanation of how she had helped to toast and grind the seeds for it, and what her mother had said about the honey. As she began to grow more rambling in her talk, he looked to the older sister, and then glanced up at the rafters, criss-crossing the dark emptiness overhead.

"This house is a wonder to me. Your brother did not prepare me for such grandeur."

Mavram looked at him cautiously, as if to check that he was not mocking; Izrah, though, sat up eagerly, as if ready to expatiate on the glories of the house.

"My father built it! He was the cleverest builder _ever_ , because when he was only _our_ age, he found out how..."

Her father? Then also Reznar's and Mavram's father, and Hurrdah's husband. He was suddenly very curious about this unseen man, who built with such grandeur, but whose name had never yet been mentioned. Dead, perhaps? or gone a journey, like Hoom?

"Your father and your mother _both_ , Izrah!" Mavram was saying, in rebuking, silencing tone. "Both women and men provide for the followers."

The little girl wriggled, in mixed acknowledgement and impatience. "I _know_... it's in the story...

 _The followers_ , Edmund noted, and recalled Izrah's indignant claim the night before: _Reznar is a leader!_ Was that claim based on providing for followers?

"How does building a house provide for followers?" he asked, and hoped the question seemed like an idle curiosity.

"Not the building alone, king," Mavram replied, "you have seen yourself how many men may sleep here, and are fed. But the building, too, gives many the feasting which in the old days..."

There was no sound from behind, but Mavram's eyes flicked, behind and then back to Edmund. She paused for just a heartbeat, and then began to speak rapidly, a little nervously. "But it is ill to talk of old feasts when we have this good breakfast before us, freshly made by my mother."

Edmund understood well enough. There had been a sign, a gesture, and Mavram had been warned away from talk of old feasts. Good. He did not want to talk of such, himself; he thought he was beginning to realise all too plainly what those feasts had been, and was sickened at the thought.

But it was his part to seem as unconscious of what had happened as little Izrah, who had been toying with the spoon in the honey-dish, and seen nothing. He forced himself to seem to want to eat more, and smiled in reply to Mavram's gambit.

"She has made this good breakfast, and also made the house we eat in! So women also work to build houses, then? I had thought that men and women worked separately in Telmar."

Mavram's gaze shifted again, past him to Gul; she spoke a little defiantly. "In old days we did. But times change."

 _Times change?_ Edmund wondered. And was this something that Gul resisted?

"And with the changing times, women begin to build houses?" he probed, carefully not looking at either sister, and seeming occupied in stirring his gruel.

There was a squeal of hilarity from Izrah—and a curious short grunt from behind him.

He looked up, perplexed. One sister was bubbling with amusement; the other seemed suddenly furious.

"Have I offended, Mistress? You said that women had begun to build houses..."

"We _always_ have done!" She spoke with energy, but also anger—and not for him only. Though she kept her eyes squarely on the king now, something in the tilt of her head, and the way she pitched her voice told him that she was addressing Gul as well.

"Us women showed the men how!" put in Izrah, proudly.

"Always have made the houses? Then what has changed?"

Mavram sat up very straight. Speaking clearly, as if to someone slow of understanding, she asked him, "What make our houses, king?"

"Who...?"

"Of _what_ do we make our houses, Eastern king?"

Of course. Trees. Plants were women's business, and wooden houses, therefore...

"Trees. Plants. I see now why it is women's business. But how do you... "

From behind, Gul's voice, heavily. " _Only_ plants."

Mavram took one or two angry breaths, then, apparently baffled, nodded in acquiescence.

"Yes. Only with plants."

"No burnt limestone? or clay, or stone, not even to hold these pillars? Or iron to hold down..."

"No. Only plants." She seemed to have recovered somewhat from the unspoken tussle with Gul. "We shape the trees, and fit them together, and tree-rope binds the roof, and the wisemother brews from the forest-blood, and spreads where the trees join, which holds them..." She gestured with her hands: _firm, rigid, solid_.

Edmund drew a deep breath. This was truly an amazing architecture. These were truly an amazing people.

Gul rose to his feet.

"No more now."

Of food or talk, Edmund wondered? But Gul was apparently leaving. He looked directly and heavily at Mavram as he turned to go.

"Old ways left no debts."

Izrah scrambled to her feet; Mavram, her lips thin and her eyes stormy, leaned forward and began to gather together the few simple dishes. Breakfast was clearly over.

Edmund watched in silence. Whatever that meant, _old ways leave no debts_ , it seemed well understood, and resented, by Mavram. But his business here was not to untangle local quarrels, but first to ensure the safety of any Elephants in this land, and secondly to gather what information he could for the safety of all Narnia.

He set his mind to sorting through what fragments of information he had already, trying to piece them together into one whole picture.

Leadership came from provision for followers. In the old way, through the slaughter of Elephants, for tusks and... he tried not to see the scenes his mind insistently pushed at him... _meat_. The feasts which had once bound leaders and followers together followed the ruthless slaughter of thinking, feeling Narnians. But the new way—had Mavram's father been a pioneer of this? In the new way, when the trade route had been blocked, and the hunts forbidden, they had found a value in knowledge of forest-lore, and men had made names by using women's knowledge in house-building; then feasts had been at the roof-raising, not at slaughter. And Telmar was in flux, shifting between the two, a struggle which he thought showed even in the squabble, the night before, between Mavram and her brother about whether men or women should control the timber-hauling Elephants.

But if this unknown Capun died, might there not be two struggles in Telmar? The struggle between the old ways and the new, and a struggle for leadership. And if so, what might that mean for Narnia? Or what might his own actions mean for Telmar?

 _Reznar is a leader_ , the ardent little sister had said, but he doubted very much that Reznar, despite his great house, could really contend for leadership. The journey overland had shown him always a follower, subordinate to Hoom. His father, perhaps, had been positioning himself for such a thing, but... he must find out about the father. In the meantime—Hoom's departure showed certainly that he was jockeying for power as the old leader died. Jockeying for power, and wanting to use Edmund himself, and the Narnian connection, as tools in his bid. And it was an odd alliance, surely, between Hoom, holding to the old ways, and this family, which despite Mavram's indignation at his blundering dismissal of women's history of house-building by women, held to the new?

Mavram's broke into his thoughts. "Will you move, king? These mats need to be..."

"Of course."

He followed her out onto the balcony, and waited while she shook the mats vigorously, one after the other, marshalling his thoughts, and his words. Now, while they were alone, before she went back inside...

"Mavram, wait."

She turned from had been spreading the mats along the balustrade, in the warm sun. He spoke, quietly, hurriedly.

"Forgive me, Mistress. I do not mean to give you pain, but I want not to speak amiss, either to your mother or to Izrah. Is your father yet alive?"

No. He saw from the pain which leapt to her eyes, that her father was indeed dead. But more than pain, he noted; her face showed anger as well, not for him, but about the death. Whatever had happened, this was a death which was felt by this proud daughter as unjust.

"No. He is not."

Her sorrow... whatever had happened, her sorrow woke his compassion. He reached to touch her arm.

"The breath of Aslan..." But she did not know Aslan. He tried again. "Comfort be with you, and with this house, Mistress."

"Thank you," she said, almost curtly, and went back into the dark inside.

He stayed, leaning on the sturdy balustrade, one hand half-unconsciously tracing the heavy carving on the outer edge, as he thought what it all might mean. An unjust death, perhaps, of a leader in Telmar. And conflict, or conflict brewing, close to Narnia.

 _Times change._ Times change, and houses which once had been built by women only were now built by men and Elephants as well. And: _men build higher now than they did once, my grandmother says,_ Mavram had said, over supper. That meant men had been building for some decades, surely? But not so long that the "old ways" had been completely forgotten—and the houses had been growing taller and greater since then? Why? And the houses had grown higher over the time that men had been part of the building—and men dealt with animals. _A work fit for Men,_ Reznar had said, but also, _the elephants work for us there, too... the roof-raising._

He drew a deep breath. Elephants, and the roof-raising! No matter what knowledge the women had had, this great roof could not have been raised by human power alone, with this scanty population. But Elephants... the pieces of information all seemed to come together of their own accord, now.

Izrah's father—the _cleverest builder ever_ , she had said, only to be silenced and diverted by her sister's admonition to remember the role women had played. And Izrah _had_ been diverted, as _he himself had been_ , he realised, silenced from any talk of what had been the discoveries and achievements of the cleverest builder ever, in that era of greater and greater houses. Was it not, surely, that her father had been the one who had discovered the way to harness the hauling power of Elephants?—maybe not the first simple use of ropes slung over tree-limbs, but more probably had found how to multiply that power many times with capstans, to winch up these huge timbers, had perhaps discovered ratcheting, too, and the use of counter-weights...

They had tried to hide one capstan from him at the cliff-edge; but that use, for descending the cliff, plainly was a use developed _after_ the Winter, an offshoot of what had been developed here, for building. Developed for building, as part of the way Telmarines struggled for status and power among themselves, yes, but more recently, some other intelligence—Hoom? Gul?—had seen how it could be used to enter Narnia. Whoever controlled this secret, controlled the trade route into Narnia. And by simple suppression of talk, they had hidden in silence the advances in technology—suppression not just of Izrah's naive boast, but also, he now saw, of his own questions about the methods of the house-building.

 _How..._ , he asked, and _Only plants_ , Gul had said, and Mavram had picked up the warning, and talked only of materials, not of methods, and he himself had not even seen how he was being steered away from what they did not want him to hear. The old error, to not hear what was not said. It was an error, he resolved, that he would not make again.

**o-o-o-o-o**

It was hard work, _listening—_ pressing against the earth and straining to catch the low, light fluttering, neither sound nor not-sound, the uneasy sense that there was a call, a ripple in the world, just beyond her perception...

The morning wore away. The ripples grew fainter, harder and harder to catch. Lucy pressed her lips tight and _listened_.

Kirrina's voice dropped to a whisper, a breath. "Do you hear, Queen?"

Each time, a pause to be certain, and then... "Yes."

And fainter still, until—

"Drink, Queen."

Kirrina was kneeling beside her, offering water in her two cupped hands.

"You have worked hard, and your people need you to stay well."

Yes, she was tired. She drank thirstily, and felt the better for the draught.

"I can't stop, though, Kirrina. I need to learn to hear the Elephants. I know which direction to go, sort of, but..."

"No." Kirrina 's dark eyes were intent. "You have learnt now all I can teach. I have stilled the waters; now it is for you to listen again. This time you listen for the Elephants indeed. Listen deep, for the cries of your people will be very faint."

Lucy closed her eyes, pressed again to the earth, and concentrated.

Nothing... nothing?

Or... something so faint, so lost and swallowed up... She looked miserably at Kirrina.

"I can't... "

"Shhh..." Kirrina's lively face had become still and stern as stone. With her eyes, not with her voice, she commanded " _Listen!_ "

And again... with her whole body, to try to find again through the clamour of forest-noise that faint, wavering movement of sound-but-not-sound...

and there was...

Her eyes flew open, and she stared at Kirrina, not daring to believe that what she had felt was what she had come so far to find.

But that... how could she not have heard it? She closed her eyes again, sat up, cross-legged, and listened. Faint, wavering, but unmistakeable... like a thread to be followed, and never lost.

So—from here the path was clear. She scrambled to her feet. She had been brought this far, and from here it was up to her. She took a deep breath, wriggled her shoulders to feel on them the small, steady weight of her cordial and her dagger, and checked once to see that she had the Dwarven-work still with her. Up to her now.

"I can hear them! So I have to go now." Her whole body was tensed, wound tight as an arbalest set to fire. "You were wonderful, and you've helped me a lot. Thank you very much for bringing me here."

Kirrina's grave, watchful face was suddenly alive with quick, sharp-eyed laughter.

"Does the Queen dismiss the River, now she has no more need of her, then?"

"Oh, no! _No!_ But you said you wouldn't help with the next bit, to bring them back to Narnia. And you've helped me with what you said..."

"I may do more yet, before we are through. But for now, valiant Queen, I will follow where you lead."

Some of the tension drained from Lucy's figure. She gave a quick smile, swung about and the two set off, southward, along the forest edge.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**


	11. Diamond and Steel, Part One

**They were high steps, for a Beaver,** and Mrs Beaver paused a moment to gather her breath, as she left the dark of the stairway and trod onto the battlements. Once there, though, she was plain in her questioning of the Queen.

"What did the Owl say?"

"Still good news. They have beaten back the Cruels and Ogres, without any losses, but he believes that the Wolves and Hags have retreated to a stronghold beyond our borders and will try again. So they will stay longer." Susan pressed her lips together tightly. "He will beat along the bounds of Narnia, every step there, in the north-west, and consult with the Narnians there and with the General to set up local defences." Her mouth twitched in a brief private smile. "A home guard."

Mrs Beaver nodded, but noted how brief was the smile, and how when it was gone the Queen's face showed pale and unhappy. She threw all the homely warmth she could into her tones: "So that's word from _both_ of them, the High King and King Edmund. Good news _is_ good news, deary."

"Yes."

The word sounded drearily, and the Queen began to pace restlessly along the battlements, not looking at her companion, but out, again and again, to the West.

Mrs Beaver trotted to keep alongside. "That's _two_ of Their Majesties! And we'll hear from the third before long, I'll be bound."

"How?" The Queen stopped and turned sharply to her Councillor. "I hear from Peter by Shortfeather, and the Ravens bring me word of Edmund, but...I _wish_ Lucy had thought of a way to send me word before she left."

"Aye, that you must. But she's a young one, and no friend by her but one that's used to run in hidden ways. No wonder they neither of them thought of it. But what's done is done, and her friend won't see her wrong, you may lay to."

"I... don't know. I never did understand her—Kirrina, I mean—and... What can a River-god know about what Lucy needs? I sometimes feel..."

 _so alone._ The words trembled in the air, but stayed unsaid.

"Aye, that you must."

"I _know_ she's gone to somehow help bring the Elephants back. But she didn't even take a pack with her...nothing.. she had her dagger and her cordial, but I don't think she even took so much as a crust of bread!"

Mrs Beaver's furry brows wrinkled in a frown. "Aye, I wish I'd had the outfitting of her for a journey, but as it is... Tell you what, Majesty deary. I'll ask about and see who knows what about what she _did_ take with her, and maybe be able to set your mind at rest."

"No...no, _don't_ , Mrs Beaver. I won't have my sister spied after! Or _asked about_ as if she was suspected of doing wrong, as if she wasn't fully Queen and Sovereign here!"

"Nay, nay... I just meant ask..."

"I say I'm _not_ going to be prying into my own sister's business! She asked me to trust her and I jolly well will! Don't you _dare_ to ask... Oh!"

The Queen stood rigid for a moment, then crumpled over against the stonework, burying her face in her hands; her voice came very tremulously.

"Oh! I'm _sorry!_ I'm sorry, Mrs Beaver! I didn't mean to snap, but I'm so..."

And in an instant Mrs Beaver's short, loving arms were around her and the rest of her words were lost in the strong embrace of her oldest Narnian friend.

"Never you mind for that. Oh, deary, never you mind a single word you say to me. A full heart runs out at the tongue, dearie, I know. And I know how hard you're trying to learn trust, and that's not an easy one to learn, not when you're worriting as well about all three of them. Never you mind!"

"If I was _properly_ trusting I wouldn't be worrying." The words were muffled, but no longer tearful. Mrs Beaver smiled.

"And that's downright nonsense. Every time he went out, I trusted Mr Beaver to be wise, but I was gnawing the home-timbers, no matter for that every time, _every single time._ "

She pulled away a little, to let the Queen come back to herself, but gently patted the still-trembling shoulders.

"And us Narnians, we had a hundred years to learn how to do trusting, mother to daughter, and father to son. You Four have learnt so _much_ , so quickly, I think we forget how hard it all must be for you. But tell you what, Majesty deary — call a Council." Mrs Beaver nodded to herself. "If a Queen can't ask her Council, what good's a Council for? Call a Council."

**o-o-o**

The Council, Susan thought, had raised more questions than it answered. True, they had all agreed that Lucy had gone to the West, following the unseen River, and surely to find a way to help free the Elephants and bring them back to Narnia, but nothing else was clear. Edmund had gone with promises of hosting, and firm contracted undertakings, but for this second expedition there was no help promised at all.

Lucy might be able to buy herself lodgings, Mrs Beaver had suggested, adding doubtfully, "If they even _have_ lodgings, them Telmars."

"Them ones that come, they understood well enough the value of things to buy welcome," Mr Beaver had put in heavily.

Coinage, Susan had noted, mechanically: one more thing to be thought through, to see the Narnian economy established. When Narnia was fully established, there must be coin for travellers to be able to buy lodging, coin backed by Narnia's word and sound economy. But in the meantime, Lucy...

"She has no coin for that, Mr Beaver. And _none_ of us would touch the Witch's gold."

"Nor none of us, neither, Queen-lass. But as for her not having nothing..."

"You watch your tongue, Mr Beaver! What the Winterfather gave her ain't nothing, no matter what." Mrs Beaver had interjected tartly.

"No, Mrs Beaver. I know she's got those, and a good friend by her, even if it is one that runs underground. But there's something else. She went to them Black Dwarfs over Krittinsfall, they're saying, before she left. You know Dwarfs, talking big, but dark on detail, keeping what they know to themselves. But still,they _say_ the Queen comes to them for help, though the High King took only Red Dwarfs to the wars. They might've given her gold, or silver maybe, or that. "

Another thought to be noted and set aside for later had flashed through the Queen's mind — the need to ensure that no one of the many peoples in Narnia felt slighted or neglected in the great work of making and guarding the country — but it was like a tiny voice heard at a very great distance, totally overwhelmed by the clamouring need to _know, now,_ about Lucy _._

" _What_ help? What did they give her? Do you know? _Who_ says?

And then Windseer had spoken, gravely, but reassuringly.

"Your Majesty has done well to call her Council; I did not know how heavy a weight of anxiety lay on you about this matter, and would have spoken sooner, had I known. The Queen's Majesty did indeed go to the Black Dwarfs, and took from them, as they have told me, not silver nor gold, but only steel, and what their kind alone deal in, diamonds."

And that had raised the most bewildering question of all.

" _Diamonds!_ What on earth...? Is she thinking of buying the Elephants' freedom?"

"Nay, you'd know her mind better than us, I don't doubt, dearie. Maybe what we said, paying for lodgings."

"Surely not so, Your Majesty. Diamonds would be of too great a value for any night's lodging. It cannot be for this that she has taken such."

"The steel then?" Mr Beaver had suggested shrewdly. "They might take a knife or that as payment."

 _No!_ Steel was even worse. Lucy? to offer knives to those... oh, _Aslan!_ And just to say the name had helped. She shut her eyes and breathed in; her sister was a Queen, and she had sworn to trust her. And then Windseer's voice had come again, through her fog of wonderment, with a new suggestion.

"If not to pay to Telmarines, could the Queen Lucy have asked for diamonds not at her own desire, but rather for that Great One who grants her safe conduct."

"As _payment_ for Kirrina! Oh, _wrong_ , Windseer!" Even in the midst of her stupefaction, Susan found a corner of her mind laughing at the bare idea that that uncatchable, unknowable being— _neither to hold nor to bind, indeed!_ — could ever deal in buying or selling. "Kirrina... I don't know her like Lucy does, but I am absolutely certain... she gives or she doesn't give, but she would never buy or sell her gifts."

Her three Councillors had looked at one another.

"Your Majesty knows Narnia already more deeply than we who have lived here long," Windseer had observed, thoughtfully. "We know more widely, and I trust may counsel well, but..." He had fallen silent.

"Well, to find the answers, then," Mr Beaver had said, practically, "call in the Black Dwarfs, and ask 'em."

"No. I have already told Mrs Beaver. I will _not_ have my sister's doings asked about as if she is not fully trusted by me, and by my Council."

A silence had fallen on the Council then, to be broken by Mrs Beaver. "It seems to me that you carry too much by yourself on a young back, Majesty dear. You get the news from the High King and from King Edmund, but do you ever send to them any more than _All's well at Cair Paravel_? A load shared is a load halved.

"You talk of trusting, and that's a good thing. But trust _them_ a little, too. Tell the High King how it is with you; I don't doubt that a word of comfort from him will do you better good than all our words, and maybe he'll add wisdom, too."

So. It did not answer her questions, Susan thought, but yes, she would lay before him all the new needs she was seeing for Narnia's good governance, and also tell him what she knew of Lucy's quest, and hope that her burden might indeed be halved.

**o-o-o**

Reznar had disappeared; Mavram was still engaged in work under her mother's direction; little fair-haired Izrah remained, peeping at him from the doors which led from the Hall onto the balcony. She had such a look of Lucy, Edmund thought—of Lucy two or three years back—and had as well something of Lucy's own bright directness. Impulsively he beckoned her over. With all the fencing and careful hiding that he felt he had to do with the adult Telmarines, it would feel good simply to chat playfully with someone younger than he, not straining all the time to appear a king.

He began at hazard, on the first subject he could think of, the house-building they had spoken of at breakfast-time.

"So women build houses in Telmar, Izrah? But this one was built before you were born, I think."

"Yes." She was more shy now, without her older sister as shield. He smiled to reassure her.

"Have you ever built a house yourself?"

"I _helped!_ I helped Wisemother build her new little house!"

She was growing boastful again, even beginning to bounce a little in her pride.

"I'm sure you did! And did your sister help, too?"

"Yes, and all the other big girls."

"And your mother?"

"No, Wisemother only has a _little_ house! She only wants a little house."

"Well, she does sound wise indeed, to not build higher than is needful. Though of course your father was very clever, too, to think of ways to build higher."

She looked at him anxiously.

"I'm not allowed to talk about that."

So. It was like a sudden jolt, to go from playfulness back into carefulness and cold calculation. Not only was information being kept from him, but even this child had been told that some subjects were barred. But which?

"About building high? your father? or about how he was clever?" She looked warily at him without answering.

"Let's talk about something different then. Old ways and new ways. Which do you like best? You were very proud of how women knew all about building houses."

"Ye-es. But our family likes new ways, because..." She stopped in confusion. "I can't talk about that."

"All right. Talk about _old_ ways then! Gul likes old ways."

"Yes, him and Hoom do. Because his family is good hunters, so they could give big feasts for everyone, if they could kill the elephants again."

"And then they could be leaders?" He felt a little sickened; he wondered if it was the strangeness of hearing this little girl, so like Lucy, speaking so cheerfully about cruel slaughter, or if it was at his own actions, pressing a child for information. "Were they the leaders before?"

"Ye-es. Once their family were, before they stopped the hunting. But it's been Northerners for ages now. It's not fair!"

Her eyes were stormy now, though her anger was not with him; the same sense of resentment which was so strong in Hoom seemed even present in this child. But Hoom's resentment had lashed out in all directions, even against Narnia for her prosperity, while this was against other Telmarines—"Northerners"—for holding the leadership longer than was "fair". Was this the _debt_ , that Gul had spoken of, which came with _new ways_?

And— _Northerners?_ So much for Hoom's boast many months back in Cair Paravel that Telmarines lived without boundaries, moving freely over the land, as "free men, not shut in boxes, as lowland countries are." It seemed that in fact they were divided among themselves, into Northerners and Southerners—and divided too, between those who liked the old ways, and those who liked the new ways, and divided somehow between men and women, too. And he himself, therefore, a dealer not with all Telmarines, as he had supposed, but with only one faction, the _Southerners_.

He looked at Izrah, speculatively. How much could she be induced to tell him? But it would be uncomfortable work to be further questioning the child— _unkingly_ , he thought, wryly. Well... he would be _unkingly_ in a different way, then, but one which would maybe be more... more Narnian. For a start, to find something to distract her from her family's resentment. He looked about, and picked up a woody seed-case which had fallen on the broad balcony.

" _Fair_ or _not fair_ , fair-haired Izrah... can you see which hand this nut is in?"

And when Mavram came out again onto the balcony she found her little sister in shrieks of laughing at the tricks and games the King was playing, passing the nut from hand to hand, challenging her to find it and then producing it from unexpected hiding places, even once from Izrah's own pocket. The older sister smiled.

"I'm glad you are so well occupied, King. Well done, Izrah, to entertain our guest so happily!"

"She has done well indeed," Edmund replied. "But maybe now... your brother spoke of showing me the glories of Telmar—as indeed, this house is one. But have we time, or have you freedom, to walk about this place, and see something of how Telmarines live? And will your brother join us?"

"He has gone to find meat for us, he and his friends. They will be back before midday. But yes, if you can be content with only two women as companions," she took Izrah's hand as she spoke "we can go now to see something of our life."

Edmund was not surprised, however, to see Gul emerge from the shadowed understorey of the house as they came down, nor that he attached himself to the group as they walked. Nor did Mavram seem surprised; clearly there was an understanding between them. It was a curious alliance, he thought, between the two families, so divided over the clash between the old ways and the new—did the alliance relate, he wondered, to the tension with the Northerners, that these, the Telmarines he knew, were all Southerners, or was it all part of the unexplained "debt" which came with the new ways?

Not a question to be asked now, in this company, perhaps. Gul had already made plain that he did not want talk to touch on the Telmarine use of Elephants, neither as prey in the hunting nor as slave labour in building; it seemed likely that he would block talk of the politics of Telmar, too, especially if, as Edmund suspected, he and his brother were trying to use their guest not just for the good of Telmar's trade, but for their own faction's ends—to regain the leadership, maybe? The more reason to be cautious now, and to remember his own purpose, to find and rescue the Elephants.

He looked about him. Village life was cheerful and busy, and... _interesting_. So _much_ to learn, so much about this world that he could not possibly have learned from his books, back in the library at the Cair. Even the way they looked at him, as he passed; he could see that he was an object of interest to the Telmarines, as they were to him, but they did not break the rhythm of their day to look long at him. It was a kind of politeness to a guest, he supposed; these people did not have the high Narnian traditions of gentilesse, nor the elaborate ceremonial ways of Calormen, but they had their own civility; they were emphatically _not_ barbarians.

He borrowed from their courtesy, and was careful to glance, rather than stare, as he walked. Nonetheless, it was fascinating to try to make from these scraps of vision a picture of the whole of Telmarine life. Few men—only Gul, indeed, as best he saw—but quite a few women engaged in various tasks before the different large houses, or on the balconies. The children were mostly playing, in games he half-recognised, though some older ones were busy about their own business, too. He saw two, a girl and a boy, bringing a satchel of some kind of cone in from the forest, spill them all on a mat before a small house, and begin to crack them, one by one, between two stones. One little group, under the supervision of an older woman, were treading out with much hilarity some kind of fibrous grass, constantly splashed and resplashed with water dipped out with wooden dipper from a rope-bound barrel.

Not far from those, he saw two women working together, pounding—some kind of grain, he supposed, but the mortar was too high for him to see inside. They sang as they worked, each lifting and lowering a wooden pestle nearly as tall as herself, in unfaltering rhythm, against a breathy thread of song.

"It seems pleasant work," he hazarded, addressing his remark ambiguously, to Mavram or to Gul, as they chose to take it. Gul shrugged, but Marvram laughed, and said, "Do you think so, King? Would you like to try?" and led him, at his eager reply, across to the pair, with Izrah hopping alongside, in high excitement.

They laughed, too, at her request, and one relinquished her pestle willingly—and no wonder! he thought, on hefting it. It was wooden, but heavy as stone; it took all his strength of upper arm to lift it, and he felt the muscles pull on the sides of his chest, as they had on that gruelling climb up the Wall.

Opposite him, his partner began to sing, nodding encouragingly and emphatically across to him, to mark the rhythm:

 _Pull_ , sister, _pull_ , sister

 _Nine_ days _more_

 _Never_ tire, _never_ tire

 _Long_ to the _shore_

Now the women and children nearby had abandoned their reserve, and had come clustering around. He breathed hard, with closed mouth, smiling to himself. This was no easy labour, but he worked on, matching stroke for stroke with his partner:

 _Long_ ways, _long_ days

 _Long_ under _sun_

 _Pull_ sister, _pull_ sister

 _Till_ we have _done..._

There was a growing excitement and laughter; here and there some had begun to join in the singing, and to clap out the rhythm along with the thudding pestles. Excitement and laughter, especially at the repeated word _sister_ ; he had a moment's qualm that he was maybe blundering, and lessening the prestige of Narnia, by taking part in women's work, when women were seen by men as lesser. Nem had been scorned by Hoom and Wily, in the forest, for gathering food, he recalled—but then Nem had gathered it unabashed, even so, and why should he, a King of Narnia, allow Hoom's scorn to sway his actions?

Or Gul's. He saw Gul pull, angrily, at one or two boys who were in the little crowd, to stop their laughing and clapping. It was time he finished, then, if his actions were beginning to disturb relations between people here.

"Enough!" he said, with a somewhat exaggerated gasp, and let the pestle fall one last time on the dark red seeds in the mortar. "I do not doubt now the strength of Telmarine women; I see well how your strength has helped to build this place."

The woman who had relinquished her pestle now took it back, quickly flicking her eyebrows in what might be approval, or might be simple acknowledgement. The general feeling though—he could not be mistaken about that—was certainly positive. He had not harmed Narnia, he felt, by this action.

And he had advanced a little in Mavram's estimation, seemingly, though she only said, "Not strength alone! We women have wisdom, too" as she led him away from the little crowd.

"So I have heard! Tell me, Mavram," he looked across to Gul, just out of earshot. "Who is the Wisemother you spoke of this morning? Might I meet her?"

But no. It seemed that this _Wisemother_ was not to be seen for the asking. Izrah looked up, astonished—at his presumption?—and a shade of rebuke passed over Mavram's face, though she replied only with, "If she wishes to see you, I will hear."

So be it, he thought—then he would push a little farther in another direction.

"There are strong women, but very few men in Telmar, it seems. I know your brother and his friends are out, hunting, but are there no older men?"

"They've gone _North!_ " Izrah burst out, proudly, "They _have_ to be there, or the Northerners... "

Gul was suddenly back with them. There was no need for words; the faces of all three showed plainly that Izrah had spoken what he—and Mavram, too—had wished to keep hidden.

"Is this what you call _wisdom_?" he hissed to Mavram, and to Izrah herself, bitingly, "What is not seen is not known; speak nothing of what you have _not_ seen!"

The little girl was clearly cowed, and shrank back. Mavram also seemed at a loss, but recovered herself, and said, "Indeed King, Izrah is speaking nonsense; there _are_ men here at work, though we have not yet been to that place. If you follow me..."

She glanced at Gul, as if for support; he stared back, giving nothing. Whatever was her plan, Edmund could see—though he affected still to be looking around at the village—that she alone would bear the consequence.

She led the way down between two houses, and then along behind. Before they had gone very far, his ears told him that they were heading to a forge, or at the least, to a smithy. He heard the clanging, the almost musical clatter of hammer on anvil, and then as they drew closer, a steady huffing of a bellows at work. And then the sharp fiery tang of hot iron was in his nostrils, and a sudden heat and small din, and they were in the smithy.

It was a dim, stuffy, enclosed space, where two burning brightnesses, of the blazing forge and the iron being worked on the anvil, threw everything else into shadow. He narrowed his eyes, to try to see. Iron, he assessed, they could forge iron, and not yet steel, but—it could not be long. These people were not Calormenes, were not Dwarfs, but they were coming fast behind.

And they had brought him here, let him see their metal-working, to distract him from the truth—surely the truth, if they would do so much to distract him?—of what Izrah had said: that most of the older men of this Southern clan had gone to see fair dealing in the matter of leadership, should Capun die soon. But after all, it was not a secret that they had some iron, nor that they wanted the trade roads open to get more; he must not go too fast in his guessing.

"You see, King?" Mavram smiled, "The men of our people may not work in the open spaces before the houses, but they are here with us nonetheless."

"Here, and working iron, though it was said in Narnia that our trade roads must be opened to get that for you." he replied, probing.

" _Old_ iron, being made again," growled Gul.

"And made into..."

"Into such as we need, King." There was rising anger in Gul's voice. "Does Narnia grudge us to live, alone and at peace here in our forest?"

Double-dealing, double-talk. Gul spoke of living _alone_ , as if all Telmarines lived united as one in the forest, but these Southerners were not truly alone, if they were, as they seemed to be, almost becoming a separate tribe from the Northerners. And perhaps not long now _at peace_ , either. Iron which had been used to kill and chain Elephants so recently might be used soon on Men. Opening the trade routes—and it was the Southerners who had found their way down to Narnia, and who would benefit from the new flow of iron, if it came to conflict between these two factions.

His eyes went to the white-hot bar being beaten out on the anvil. Into what? As he looked, dazzled a little by burning light, the bar was whisked away again, into the fire. He blinked to try to see in the surrounding semi-dark; beside the anvil, and scattered on the floor around the smithy were wedges of iron, like thick solid axe-heads, and hammers and chains; his mind flashed to the chained dumb elephants of capstan and river, and to the slave-Elephants whom he had yet to meet... Perhaps his face had given some sign of his thinking, because Mavram spoke now, urgently.

"Wood is the heart and mainstay of our lives, King, but we need the iron... our mightiest trees are felled by driving in these wedges with the skull-hammers."

He did not reply. Did she really not see the meaning in the name of the hammer? And more, the smith had plunged the bar that he had been working on back into the heart of the fire, but the king had seen...it had seemed to him that it was being fashioned not into an axe-shape, but for a short, heavy blade.

"We _treasure_ the little iron we have, King!" Mavram was saying, still urgently, still persuading. "For years, since the trade roads were closed, such iron as we have has been kept most carefully, and any notched or broken is brought here, and heated and beaten out again, and fashioned to new use. King..."

"Hammers and wedges... but here are knives and _chains?_ Do you use chains and knives for your _trees_?"

"The elephants we chain are _Telmarine!_ " Her eyes were hot and angry.

Edmund looked at her appraisingly. She had followed his thoughts so far, but not further. She thought of Elephants, but not of conflict between Men. He wondered how far this alliance ran, how much she really knew of Gul's intentions, of Hoom's. But whatever she knew, she was his best contact now, and could probably be his guide to the place of the timber-Elephants. He set himself to calm her.

"Those I have seen, yes, it seems so. Those I will go to find after tomorrow remain unknown. But I thought," he changed the subject almost at random, "that Telmarine Men worked with beasts, with _that which moves_ , not with dead unmoving things, like iron."

Unexpectedly, it was one of the men in the smithy who answered—not the smith who had been at the anvil, but another, a voice from the shadows behind the burning fire.

"Is not _fire_ a living thing? And does not iron become a living thing when it meets the living fire? "

Edmund peered back, to see who had spoken; there were more men there, and other shapes behind—something stacked in straw. _Odd_ , he thought _to have straw so close to a fire_.

"A living thing, which deals death?" he asked, partly to have cover to keep staring into the gloom. "You fashion the iron to shackle and kill?"

" _Men_ hunt for meat." There was shade of scorn in Gul's voice. He moved as he spoke, to block the King's line of sight to those indeterminate shapes, and looked sharply at Mavram.

"Indeed they do," she responded immediately. "and if we speak of that, Reznar and his friends will soon be back. Shall we go, King, to meet him?"

"Certainly," Edmund said.

He had seen enough. Moreover, Gul had planted himself squarely down, sitting wide to cover what he sat on, there in the dark, and to walk even a short way without his presence might leave Mavram—and Izrah!—more free to let slip small scraps of information.

Yes, he had seen enough, however much they might conceal by double-dealing speech and silences and keeping secret; he could see with his mind as well as with his eyes! The blade he had seen so briefly—it had not been a hunting-knife, but something closer to a shorter sabre-blade, a weapon not to cleanly cut at game, but to crash through a scrimmage, to slash and to cut down a Human enemy. And that which was stored in the smithy, packed in straw, and shielded from view by Gul—what could it be, but _new_ iron, iron ingots, traded without Narnian knowledge, through Narnia. Packed in straw to be muffled and secret for its journey, which he doubted not had been begun that last night of the summer fair, and supplied, surely, by the Calormen traders.

As they left the smithy, and came out again into the clearer, cooler forest air, the King was deep in thought.

**o-o-o**

"Oh... Kirrina, _that's_ not a Narnian Elephant!" Lucy's voice was sharp with disappointment. "We'll have to try again."

She and Kirrina stood on a low rise looking down towards the distant river, where a lone ferry-beast stood, swaying blankly in its chains. No other beast was in sight, nor any Human.

"This is where the Queen's listening has led us," Kirrina replied.

"Yes, but... Kirrina, you don't know this, but last year we got the Ravens to fly all over where the Telmarines are, and they looked at all the Elephants they could find, and they found out which ones were really Elephants and which ones weren't and these ones _aren't_. They said so."

Kirrina looked at her, obliquely. "The Queen hears very well the voice of the Ravens, more than her own listening," she observed, but there was ice in her voice.

"Yes, they're really wise. And Diamond, that's the oldest one, remembers all the families, who's related to who, all over Narnia. She helps a lot with telling us things."

"The Queen is fortunate to have such counsellors, who can see from the air, and see from a great height which beasts think and feel and which do not. _Air_ teaches so much, it seems, that they need not work slowly, through the feel of earth or water."

Lucy looked doubtfully at her companion; Kirrina could sometimes change moods so quickly, and it was so hard to guess what would make her angry.

"They're not _all_ old. But they _did_ say that the river-elephants, and the capstan-elephants, too, aren't Narnian, and that they don't speak at all. There're other elephants who have to pull trees, who—the Ravens said they were taking care of each other, and _they're_ the ones who are probably Narnian. _They're_ the ones I was wanting to...".

Her voice trailed away, uncertainly. The River-god's face was like the face of a stranger, as if she did not know Lucy at all. She was smiling, but it was a hard smile, and her eyes glittered.

"Yess... the Ravens are very wise. The Queen may trust them for many things."

"Kirrina?"

"The Queen chooses where to place her trust." And Kirrina's gaze drifted now away from Lucy, as from a thing of no account; she began very slowly to sink into the ground.

"Kirrina! You're not _going?_ "

"Am I not? Did the Ravenss tell you that?" replied Kirrina indifferently, sinking a little deeper.

"No.. no. I made a mistake!"

Kirrina stopped, and her gaze flicked up to Lucy like a dart. "Yess."

"Was I wrong about the Elephants?"

"Twice wrong, Queen. Wrong most..."

"To trust the Ravens more than you?"

Kirrina bared her teeth impatiently, and Lucy understood that she had blundered once again.

"Am I set as _rival_ to mortal sky-dwellers? I am not so _small_ , Queen!"

"Then...?"

"To choose _not to trust your own listening_. Have I not trusted you with much? Has the Singer not trusted you with more? How can you _dare_ not to trust your own perceiving, then? "

"Oh. Oh."

The listening that Kirrina had taught so patiently, and the something in herself—her _self_ — that Aslan had valued enough to make her Queen. Yes. Yes. She breathed in and out, a long breath.

"Do you... do you care whether I'm sorry, Kitagkirrinakgurrunalon?"

For the briefest of instants Kirrina seemed—as she had never seemed before—taken aback, but the instant after her eyes flashed again with her own dark brightness, as if she laughed at a private joke.

"No, indeed, Queen-who-dares-unasked-to-call-me-by-name! You learn to know me! I do not care as Humans care, for _sorry_ , nor even for these Beasts. But if you have learnt a little wisdom, we may go on."

"But... we _will_ go on, Kirrina... but these ones must be _very_ different from Narnian Beasts, if the Ravens couldn't see any sign of them being Narnian."

"Yes." The brightness sank away; the River-god's eyes were again shadowed, unfathomable. "I do not feel as you feel, but I have lived long, and I have heard. Long cruelties, borne alone, are like a crushing cage for mortals, twisting what grows within. For these, the _selves_ are driven very deep, and are not to be seen by a casual glancing, nor even by careful looking from the air. There is healing needed here, not just setting free. "

Lucy nodded. Her joyous adventure to free the Elephants and lead them to safety had become something else, something less happy, and much harder.

"Do you understand, Queen? These are greatly damaged by long cruelty— _mad_ , as Humans call it—and to free them, and to attempt the healing here, may be attended with great danger. They may turn in anger and the pain of returning self even against the one who frees them."

The Queen frowned as some memory tugged at her mind; something like this she had heard before, somewhere, vaguely. She shook her head.

"Yes, I understand. We will go on."

"You have the Dwarvenwork with you? We will need it."

"Yes. And my dagger and my cordial."

"Good. Then let us go down."

**o-o-o**

It was early morning, and the Queen was in the kitchen garden, when Shortfeather came—noiselessly but the Queen was alerted by the sudden straightening of those working beside her, and looked around to see him skimming down towards her, his eyes strong-set and, it seemed to her, dark with purpose. She set down her spud, very carefully, and stood waiting, silent, as he glided the last few yards, clutched awkwardly to land on the wheelbarrow edge, righted himself, and gravely inclined his head in salute.

"The High King is well..." She felt her shoulders slump; she had not realised she had been letting tension tighten them. "...he has still much to dooo... He sends greetings. And to yuuu.." and he held out one claw, which, she now saw, was cramped tight around a crumpled scrap of some soft material—of fine leather?

She took it wonderingly, saw the black scrawled writing on it, and felt her body snap into tightness again—what could he have to tell her that needed to be _written?_ What did he not want to trust to Shortfeather's memory? Not a matter for kitchen-garden conference, surely. Nor should the Narnians around her see her troubled. She deliberately made her voice calm, her face untroubled, as she spoke.

"I thank you, Master Shortfeather! I will read this indoors, I think, away from this bright sun. And you too, must need quietness and rest in shadow. Please, take your leave; sleep, until it is time for you to return to my brother."

The Owl shuffled a little, and fluffed his feathers.

"For you... to serve yuuu..."

She smiled at that.

"I know. I treasure your willingness, Master Owl, but we may have need of your wit and your strength when night comes. Rest now, to be the sharper in our service then."

The Owl bobbed acknowledgement, swivelled his short, solid body about and took flight. The Queen turned slowly and walked back inside.

**o-o-o**

It was only a scrap, and as she had guessed, it was of the fine suede-leather which had cushioned the inside of Peter's mail-shirt. _Stupid of me_ , she thought in passing, to have not thought of the possible need for a written message; she must organise for the next expedition some sort of travelling writing-desk, like that one the Galmans had offered.

But this scrap—he must have written this with a twig, in sap, and blotted it with dust, she thought wryly, as she tried to read it. Only a few words, words so cramped and so few she could hardly make out his meaning:

_Ask Diamond for L_

_Alert E L beware Neerzat._

_L b h p  
_

_Diamond for air  
_

_b h p_

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**


	12. Diamond and Steel - Part Two

**The Ivory Merchants**

**Chapter Eleven - Diamond and Steel: Part Two  
**

_Ask Diamond for L_

_Alert E L beware Neerzat._

_L b h p_

_Diamond for air_

_b h p_

The first thing that sprang out to her eyes was Neerzat's name.

The longest sentence, and therefore the one which Peter was taking most pains to make plain to her. _Alert E L beware Neerzat._

E and L were plain enough: Edmund, Lucy. But Neerzat? Did he mean that Neerzat was in Telmar? And planning to work against Narnia there? Well... it would have to be the Ravens to take that message to Edmund. As for Lucy—"Ask Diamond for L". Why did Peter think Lucy needed diamonds? Why had Lucy taken diamonds with her? And "Diamond for air"? and "b h p" repeated twice? What was so important as to need to be said twice, once in relation, surely, to Lucy...

Susan stopped in her thinking, feeling the fear for Lucy swelling up inside her, truly inside her, like a balloon expanding up from her middle and into her throat. No. No. She would not fear. Not to be lost in fear, anyway. Weren't they all...

And in a flash _b h p_ came plain; she could almost _hear_ the words, in Peter's own undaunted voice: "Between his paws!"

Yes, of course. Lucy was in Aslan's care, and so were they all, Peter meant, by saying it twice. Once to tell her not to let worry for Lucy swamp her, and once... once as they had all said it, as he had left, and again as Edmund had. She had said it and she would jolly well believe it. Or try her level best.

The Queen looked about her, pleased that she had decoded the message so far. So... what was left? _Ask Diamond for L... Diamond for air._ Lucy needed diamonds for air? It didn't make sense.

And that was why she had counsellors, she thought to herself again, and went back out into the sunshine briefly, and called across to the kitchen-garden party.

"Could Windseer and the Beavers come to see me, please?"

**o-o-o**

And it was, after all, so simple. Not diamonds, _Diamond!_ Peter was pointing her to Diamond, oldest and wisest of the Ravens, to look for Lucy through all the land of the Telmarines.

"But what about that last bit?" she asked the assembled counsellors. " _Diamond for air?_ "

"Oh, that's straight enough," grunted Mr Beaver, "and that's why he sent it written, not by Shortfeather's word, Shortfeather being air himself, and... well, you can see..."

"Being _air himself_?"

"Your Majesty," interposed Windseer, calmly, "the High King suggests that the Raven Diamond be named as the voice for the air-dwellers on the Council. He has sent this in silence, to give you the most clear space in which to consider, and perhaps also to avoid stirring a clamour of guessing and advising among others of the air."

"Ah!"

The Queen fell silent. This was Peter's answer— _part_ of his answer!—to her aloneness. He was suggesting that she strengthen the Council, and putting forward Diamond as the candidate for Air, but not making the appointment himself. In keeping the matter private, he was leaving it to her, to appoint or not, as she chose. And his suggestion—she felt a curl of pleasure and love unfolding within her. For himself he would surely have chosen another Counsellor from the Air, the grim, hard-eyed, mighty-winged General, who worked closely with him to defend this country, or even his own trusted messenger, Shortfeather. To suggest Diamond was an act of love and concern for _her_ , left alone to think and work for them all—and to leave the decision in her hands bespoke so much trust in her... She looked up at the three waiting Counsellors.

"I will not decide this high appointment now, friends; it calls for more thought. I charge you all to keep unspoken, even to each other, this part of the King's word to me."

They nodded, wordlessly.

"But the other..." Her face lit up with hope, and with the pleasure of being able to take some action against anxiety. "Call our Chief Raven to me now! I will indeed _Ask Diamond for Lucy!"_

**o-o-o**

Steadily, steadily... wingbeat by wingbeat, with her eyes fixed, raking the length of the Wall, from the Great River to the mountains of Archenland... and then turning and returning, and raking again, skimming low, barely a tree's height above the ground.

"Scour all the Telmar lands, starting closest to Narnia, good Diamond, for she cannot have gone far..." the Queen Susan had said.

The Queen Susan—grown thinner and paler though it was not yet one moon since she had stood, glowing and triumphant, at the opening of the Summer Fair. Diamond, oldest of the Ravens of Narnia, remembered well how it had been to be left in her youth as the chief of the Raven Conspiracy, in the darkest days. With every sweep of her wings she strengthened in her vow to lighten the load on her Queen, left in like wise, burdened with responsibility held in uncertainty.

Steadily steadily... and on her third passing the full length of the Wall, she saw: a small and solitary figure, determinedly half-walking, half-skidding down a long scrub-covered slope, to where one of the Telmarine work-beasts swayed, mindlessly, in its chains.

Her heart lifted. She had found the Queen Lucy. She could bring relief to the anxious Chatelaine in Cair Paravel, fill and more than fill her mission here. She slowed and glided down, landing on the gravelly ground, a little below the Queen

"Diamond!"

Queen Lucy's voice rang with gladness, and Diamond remembered again how young she was. _And all alone here_ , she thought, and set herself to see that the Queen returned to Narnia.

**o-o-o**

They had not wandered long after leaving the smithy when a pleased exclamation from Mavram alerted Edmund to the return of the hunting party _—_ Reznar, Nem and two other men whom he half-recognised from the morning's stir before breakfast. They carried bows, and a sack apiece, but not much otherwise—no such large kill as might be expected to be brought back by a hunting party.

The same thing seemed to strike his two companions at the same instant.

"They haven't got _anything_!" Izrah wailed. " _Now_ what?"

Her sister jerked at her hand reprovingly, glancing across at Edmund as she spoke. "Behave yourself! They'll have something! Have you ever gone hungry in our house?"

"No," Izrah conceded in some confusion; the king saw that it had not been possible hunger which troubled her, but the success of the hunt as a thing in itself—or as a factor in this leadership struggle? Gul was not with them; he decided to try for one bold question.

"So Reznar mightn't be leader now, hey, Izrah? Nor Nem!"

"It's not _funny!_ " she flashed. "And we never thought he would _now_ , anyway, because he's too young."

The king, younger by some years than Reznar, let that go by, but noted privately that it was not lack of years that held Reznar back from leadership, but simply that he was not a leader.

"And you never even thought of Nem?" He tried to keep his tone light, as if he were joking, but he saw that this question stirred Mavram even more than the first. Time to drop it, before she stopped it for him—and she did intervene, almost immediately, speaking very stiffly.

"We are well content that Hoom should speak for the south in these matters, king. It is a pity these, our traditions, are distracting you from your proper business here."

And _our traditions_ and _your business_ between them made a strong demand that he should not enquire further—he bowed slightly in acquiescence.

**o-o-o**

"Your Majesty, greeting."

"Greeting, Diamond," said Lucy formally, and looked across to Kirrina, for her to greet the Raven in her turn.

"Your Majesty, I bring you word from the Queen your sister, and also from your brother the High King. I bring news of your brother, King Edmund."

"Yes! How is he? Is he setting the Elephants free? We are almost ready to help the ones here, and I don't even see any guards!"

"No, Majesty; the dumb work-beasts near the Wall here are left alone, as the Telmarines go north to debate their leadership. The King Edmund travels to the timber-haulers of the south-west, who are Elephants indeed."

"So there won't be guards to fight! Oh, _good!_ And good, that he's going! And Peter?"

"The High King prevails against those who would break the peace and joy of Narnia, but he sends this word to you: _Beware Neerzat._ "

"Neerzat? In Telmar?" The Queen's voice dropped from its eager questioning into something more distant.

"I do not know, but that is the word he sends."

Lucy nodded, storing the warning away for future thought.

"And Susan?" Her voice warmed again.

The Raven fluttered up to a branch, closer to Lucy, and tilted her head, fixing the Queen with one bright eye.

"The Queen Susan yearns for you, and has wept for you. None other has seen but I, unless it be her Counsellors, but there is little that I have not seen, and I have seen the tears on her cheeks, weeping for you."

Lucy stepped back, a little awkwardly, on the slope. "Did she tell you to say so?"

"No, Majesty. And I have lived long, and know well that it is not for me to thrust my beak into great matters," said the Raven. "Still, I counsel you, Queen, to leave this place and return to those who love you."

"Raven Diamond," Lucy's voice trembled a little, and she paused to steady it, "those who love me know I have to be here. We all Four were agreed that our Elephants must be freed, and when my brother left these, of course I _had_ to come."

"Majesty..."

The Queen cut across the strong, harsh voice with a fresh, sweet dignity. "I thank you for your news, Raven. Please take this message back to my sister: I am well, and I am almost there.

Kirrina moved close to Lucy and murmured very quietly, "Do not dismiss this one yet, Queen."

"I am _not_ going back!" hissed Lucy in return, "And my sister has not asked me to!"

The Raven's head jerked up, and she hopped a little backwards on her branch, her eyes glancing at Lucy and behind, uncertainly, but spoke again.

"She has not, Your Majesty. But is it not plain that you can do nothing here? These beasts are not Narnian."

"You are wrong, Diamond," said the Queen, firmly. "I've heard them."

"Majesty..." Diamond looked still more uncertain, and ducked her head as she spoke. "I am a Raven,and not a Hare, but I hear and see well. I have heard nothing from the work-beasts, nor ever seen a sign of thought in them. There are Narnian Elephants in Telmar, but they are far from this place, and your brother the King works for their release, bargaining with the Telmarines." She half-lifted her head again, twisting to look up at Lucy, beseechingly. "There is nothing for you to do here, and the Queen your sister has need of you."

"The Queen my sister," and now the Queen's voice was hard and clear as steel, "is the strongest of us all in saying that _no Narnian will be left in slavery_. She has not asked me to come back."

"She has not, but it will grieve..."

Lucy clenched her fists in frustration, and growing anger.

"Queen" came a quiet voice at her ear, "she tells you what your sister has not said. Ask her what she _did_ say."

Lucy huffed a little sigh of relief at Kirrina's words, as offering a way forward from this impasse, and once again the Raven fluttered, seemingly disconcerted and looking searchingly into the empty air.

 _How might Susan say it?_ Lucy thought, and then took a deep breath and tried again.

"Raven Diamond, listen to me: I know my own business here, and I will _not_ discuss it further with you. If you bring word from my sister for me, deliver it now, and no more."

The Raven ducked her head and looked away. Her beak opened twice, soundlessly before she spoke.

"As... as you command, Majesty. Your sister herself sent only this word to you: _between his paws._ "

"Thank you, Diamond." And though Lucy tried hard to continue remote and queenly, her voice—she could hear it herself; her mouth quirked in an irrepressible smile—trembled with relief and triumph and joy, all mixed. "Thank you, good Raven! And to my message to her, add that, too! And fly well, Diamond. I love you very well."

"Majesty..." came croakingly, and the old Raven bowed her head again, as if acknowledging both her offence and its forgiveness, and then took flight.

"Well spoken, Queen!" Kirrina said. "You do well to love all Narnians."

"I do love her. She only wanted to stop Susan from being hurt, and I would love her for that, even if I didn't already for being herself. But she was a bit rude to _you!_ She didn't ever once talk to you!"

Kirrina's face lit up with amusement. "Do not mislike her on that account, Queen! She is the oldest and the wisest of the Raven kind, but even she cannot see all."

"Oh! Couldn't she see you?"

"As it seems. Come away now."

"Could she see you if you wanted her to?"

But Kirrina was already setting off down the slope to the river.

**o-o-o**

A larger company attended the main meal of the day than had been present at breakfast, and it was a more formal gathering, though still seated on the floor, around several mats. Mavram and Izrah, seated one either side of the visiting king, both were slightly more dignified than they had been in the morning, clearly conscious that they were daughters of a great house. Hurrdah now appeared as mistress of a household indeed, directing both women and men in matters of their seating, and the serving of the food. But though she was powerfully in control, and as strong and capable as ever, she seemed to be less approachable; her face was brooding and she paid less attention to Edmund and seemed to watch more closely her older daughter and her son.

Edmund was glad to feel a little more free of surveillance. In this large company, he began to see just how, in Telmarine society, providing for followers made a leader. The followers—such as the young men who had gone with Reznar to the hunt—seemed to take it as a matter of course that they would be fed and sheltered in his house. In return—they did not precisely defer to him, but the king could see that had he more age or weight of character, they would do so. Instead, the deference seemed divided between the wary respect they showed his mother, and the elaborate courtesies offered by most of the young men to Mavram, who for her part seemed more disposed to give her friendship to Nem than to any other—he had moved from his assigned place to sit closer, at her beckoning.

The food was good; a stew again, with some small unidentified meat—squirrel? tree-rat?—and chunks of some large mealy nut, as well as two different fungi—the large creamy half-moons of wood-curd, and some small, brown chewy globes with a distinctive earthy-rich flavour. He turned, cheerfully, to the little girl who sat next to him.

"Your brother and Nem have provided well for us today, Mistress Izrah, despite your wailing that the hunters had not brought you home your dinner!"

"I _knew_ there'd be plenty to eat," she said with dignity. "There _always_ is."

It was a gallant attempt to wipe out her words of a few hours back; he felt a warm respect for her, almost an affection. "Good food is a great blessing. I am glad Telmar lives so well."

She seemed to relax little at the genuine warmth in his voice.

"We do! And _next_ time Reznar will get a goat."

"Even this wood-curd alone, and these nuts could be the start of a good meal, I think," he said, to turn the talk to less contentious matters.

"Oh, that was just Nem. He got those!"

"May Master Nem always have such success in his hunt! Mmmmmm!" he said, holding up some of the wood-curd and smacking his lips over it, to make her laugh.

She did laugh, though it seemed more at his words than his clowning. "You don't _hunt_ wood-curd, you just _find_ them! So it doesn't count."

Doesn't count for leadership? he wondered, but did not speak his thought. Instead...

"But Master Nem has the good skill to find them."

"Only because Wisemother tells him things..." Izrah was saying, but Edmund was already leaning forward, grinning along to Nem, and still holding up the wood-curd.

"Well done, good finder! You found well!"

Unexpectedly, a voice hissed behind him.

"I have _heard_ , and now I see it!"

Hurrdah.

She had been passing, he supposed; now, though, she was crouched close behind him. Now she leaned closer to his ear, saying low and bitingly: "Is it because you are young yourself that you do not see the shame in pressing a child for answers to the questions you fear to ask her elders?"

Edmund flushed, but did not attempt any self-exculpation, though it was hard to imagine what question she thought Izrah had answered. He had not pressed, but... it was true that he had earlier seen the advantage in Izrah's bouncy chatter.

When he did not reply, she jibed again from behind, still for his ears only: "You do well not to try to excuse it, _king_!"

"If you think ill of me, you would not change for any excuse of mine, I think," he said, as quietly. "But... " he swivelled to look straight at her, "if you bid me ask her elders, understand that I do _not_ fear to ask. Will you fear to answer?"

She opened her mouth to reply, thought again, and then said, "The household mats are not the place for such talk. And I have much to do, and cannot... "

She was standing as she spoke, but he was quick to stand also, trusting that to the hall at large this would seem simply courtesy to his host.

"Then I will ask one thing only, _if you do not fear questioning_."

Her face and gestures were well controlled; only her eyes showed her anger. No more than he did she want a public breach, Edmund decided.

"I do _not_ fear. We will speak again, and you may ask your question."

**o-o-o**

She arranged it easily enough but then, he reflected, the whole household probably was used to obeying her strong will. She simply announced, especially to her children, but to Gul as well: "You have spoken much with our guest already. I will take time now, myself alone, to speak with him."

Then, when they were alone: "I have not time to waste, but I do not fear your question. Ask it."

"I will be brief. I can see well that Hoom's family has lost by the change which came from the end of the trade in ivory; I can see that he holds this as a debt from new ways, and wants to return to the trade, and wants to use me for this end, hoping that he can thereby become leader of your people. But I do not understand why you, who brought to your family new ways of wealth and power, join with him in this. Tell me, what is the debt which _you_ seek to repay to Capun, that drives you and your house in this?"

"A debt as old as the child you have badgered with your questions!" she flashed.

"Mistress, whatever you believe, or whatever I may have done another time, I was not at our mealtime pestering your child with questions for my own ends. Nor will I—she is as gallant and great-hearted as my own little sister."

The hostility on her face seemed to flicker, revealing an underlying sadness.

"A great heart—that is from Rittar, her father, like her shining hair."

He replied courteously, though he felt she was avoiding his question, "I have heard from her how he worked with you to build this great house. Izrah is very proud of her father."

"She has never met her father."

It took him a moment to _hear_ that, to hear how her words, seemingly away from the point, had in fact been answering him from the beginning. _A debt as old as the child..._ _She has never met her father._

He looked closely at her, and she returned his gaze with iron-hard eyes, as if defying the past to hurt her.

"Forgive me if I give pain, Mistress Hurrdah, but let me be clear. Her father died before she was born?"

"The pain was given long since. Yes, he... died, when he was gone, like Hoom, on a journey to the North."

There was silence, as he wondered how best to continue, then she added, almost to herself: "Women can do more with plants than build houses, King Edmund."

It took him a moment to understand, or to guess, what that meant. When he did, he hesitated to put the thought into words; she had spoken as if thinking aloud, but she had said his name—she was giving an answer to his question, but in the Telmarine way, where silence could speak, to those who had learned to listen.

He chose his answering words very carefully, not to question again, but to feel his way to certainty: "Plants can yield medicines of great virtue."

"Yes."

"Or work to do powerful harm."

She did reply directly to that. Instead, looking far away, and as if she had forgotten him altogether, she began to croon more words of the chant which Hoom had chanted:

_"did they not bring us safe through darkness,_

_did they not teach us ways of wisdom,_

_ways of power over the mighty,_

_from that which grows, the many uses..._ ".

Her eyes snapped back to him, dark with things unsaid. She held his eyes for a long moment, perhaps until she was sure he understood, and then she turned and left.

So. He had his answer. Rittar had been poisoned, and so died, leaving a heritage not of great house-building alone, but of lasting hatred in this woman; she and all her family held his death as debt against Capun and for that reason had added their strength to Hoom's bid to gain power. That one act, a death engineered to retain power, was the small wedge which was splitting the people of Telmar in two.

Murder, hatred, resentment, division and underlying all of it, generations of cruelty to Narnian Elephants, their personhood denied, valued only as the worth of their bodies, whether in ivory or meat or the work which could be wrung from them in slavery. A huge weight of wrong, and he had so very little in him, of wisdom, or experience or _greatness_ , to use against it. To find the way forward from here, he thought would take all he had in him, and then some.

**o-o-o**

"I'm going to get him used to me before I tackle those."

Lucy spoke bravely but close to, the chains seemed massy beyond her imagining, and the ring around the leg of the Elephant, solid and immovable.

"Iron yields, Queen. I know what lies in the earth, and I know how it can yield."

"Yes." But Kirrina's words seemed to come from far away. She forced herself to take another step, to get closer still, to see exactly how the shackle and chain were put together.

Even close, even so close that the Elephant stood above her rather than in front of her, it was hard to believe this was a Talking Beast. There was deadness in the eyes; there was no recognition there that Lucy even stood there.

She could feel her breath beginning to catch. Her arms—she willed herself to reach out and pat the Elephant's trunk, but her arms would not obey her.

Kirrina was watching attentively, but gave no help at all.

"I'm frightened!"

"Yes. I have seen it before, with mortals. You are in danger of hurt or death, and you feel fear." Kirrina stopped, and frowned a little, as if she were trying to see something a little beyond her sight. "This is strange, Queen; it is uneasiness, for me, to know you are in danger." She stopped again, and again seemed to ponder and then went on, more certainly. "It will be a sadness to Narnia, to know your death."

"Do you mean...? Do you know that I am going to die?

"Assuredly. Did not you know that?"

"No." Lucy had begun to shiver. "But... will I get the Elephants free first?"

The questioning on Kirrina's face dissolved into amusement.

"I do not speak of this day, Queen, nor foretell how this venture will unfold! Only that I know that all mortals die. As to whether you can free and heal this one and the rest... you will show me that, in your good time, I trust!"

She was again, in part, the teasing, impatient Kirrina Lucy had known by the sea at Cair Paravel.

"Oh. I thought... Never mind. I'm starting now."

She squatted down, next to the huge leg. It helped a little, for a moment, to pretend it wasn't part of a Beast at all—that it was a tree, maybe, which had an iron collar fixed around it. And that it was her job to see how it could... She looked closely at it. The cuff was hinged; it was two semi-circles which had been snapped shut, and were held together by one link, and that link in turn to the chain. It would be best to work on the one link which held the iron ring closed, she decided, and that way she could at worst slip the chain loose, but better, much better if she could wrench open the horrible iron ring...

Of a sudden the solid bulk of leg shifted, terrifyingly alive, weighty and indifferent.

 _In danger of hurt or death..._ The Queen did not move, did not even breathe. But she had come so far, and was here almost, as an emissary of so many. She thought of them all: of Edmund, who had felt so wretched in his imagined 'failure', and the hard-spoken Dwarfs of Krittinsfall, and their giving, and Kirrina's bringing and teaching, and Susan's trusting...

"I'm really starting now," she said aloud, not even sure as she spoke if it was true, and reached into her bosom for that which Kirrina had counselled her to ask of the Black Dwarfs. Diamond and steel.

Diamond and steel - a multitude of tiny sharp-glinting diamonds, chequering the shining, unyielding steel. It had been their finest work for many months—she had been able to feel that, and to see it as well in their fierce sidelong glances to each other.

"It'll cut their wroughten iron like butter," Kracherk had said, in a mix of exulting and contempt, and then had clamped his lips tight shut, and only scowled when she had asked about payment.

They had given it to her not with courtly grace, but roughly, and not because she was their Queen, but for this task, here, now.

Now. Gathering all her courage, the Queen edged closer, reached out and touched at last the rough grey hide—unexpectedly warm, and unexpectedly prickly, with sparse sharp hairs piercing the tough leathery skin. She held her hand still for a moment, wondering if the Elephant would feel her hand moving, and how he might react. But she was here, and here for a purpose. She slid her hand down, came to the iron ring, took a deep breath and then determinedly knelt to her work, holding the iron ring with one hand and grasping the dwarf-made file with the other, got to work on the imprisoning link.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**


	13. A Queen and a King - work for the day

Lucy scraped again at the link. The Elephant had begun to sway above her, ponderously, and to half-lift his feet from the ground, moving his weight from one side to the other. Once, and again, she had had to jerk back, to keep from brushing up against the massive shackled leg.

Like butter, Kracherk had said. It was not so easy, not _nearly_ as easy as that, but still the Queen could feel as she worked that each stroke of the file did indeed rasp and bite into the softer metal—a scratch on its surface, a deeper scar, even from time to time an actual curled shaving falling bright into the dust.

She felt with her fingers. Progress, but not enough. Perhaps if she wriggled the link about to get a better angle...?

That seemed to bring a tension to the huge body, and the shifting to and fro became both heavier and faster.

She worked on.

**o-o-o**

His morning exercises were brief—the standard stretch and swinging from side to side to say _All's well_ , the sit-ups, facing to the north-west, indicating that his journey should start the following day, then the meaningless filler movements, contrived to bamboozle any sharp-eyed keen observer who might otherwise observe the differences in exercise from day to day... Swing left, swing right...

A sharp "Caw!" caught his attention.

His eyes flicked up, and noted a fluttering hop, sideways, along a branch a little way away. A message from Cair Paravel, then—something more than Susan's usual _All's well_.

Slowly, to disarm any watcher, he changed position, finally dropping to lie on his back, and begin a slow, reluctant-seeming series of sit-ups and toe-touchings, the better to be able to see the sky above between each one. Sallowpad—he felt almost sure it was Sallowpad—would need to take to the skies to convey anything more complex than _All's well._ And yes... the black shape launched itself from the branch and ascended in slow, looping circles—and then the message itself began, with a sudden jolting drop.

_Beware. From the South. One Man. South._

And what did that mean? He put his hands behind his head, making a question of his reply. _Telmarine?_

 _No._ Sallowpad sped straight, returned and sped again. _South. South._

So... Archenland, Calormen... or even little Teebeth, perhaps. Their code had incorporated everything he had thought could be needed for this journey—every word for _Herd_ or every kind of Elephant, or directions or times... but not the names of other lands. One more thing to be attended to, when he was safely back in Narnia. The King grimaced, and signalled into the sky.

_Known?_

"Are you in pain, King?" It was Mavram's voice, cautious, but not hostile.

"No. No. Or rather, not more than these exercises usually give me." The distraction meant he had missed Sallowpad's reply, so he asked again.

_Known?_

_Yes. Yes. Known. South. Man._

_Where?_

_Unknown._

_Threat?_

_Unknown._

So—not a clearly defined threat. He sat up, the better to think. Not a clearly defined threat, but that jolting, hiccoughing drop had been definitely _Beware_ , not _Be ready_. Susan wanted to put him on his guard, at least, about the unknown, unlocated danger posed by a Man from the South. Well, he was on his guard, however frustrated by the sparseness of the information he had received. He could only hope that when he was once more on the forest track with Hoom and Reznar, he would be able to catch a spoken word or two, as he could not here, where watching eyes were all about.

He got to his feet, and smiled pleasantly across at Mavram—who was all too clearly keeping surveillance on him—and indulged in a few more filler-movements. Watching eyes indeed! Against his will he felt his courtesy-smile stretch to become something more; it was a serious and a heavy mission he was on, but there was undoubtedly a certain zest in this game, the signalling under the very eyes of the watchers! He stretched one arm out sideways, while rubbing the back of his neck, with the other hand, as if beginning to weary of the exercise. He did not need to look up. Sallowpad would read his sign.

 _Understood._ A signal perhaps not entirely true, but true enough to be going on with.

**o-o-o**

Something was different. Something was pressing into her consciousness, disturbing her total focus on filing at the link, thinner now, but still holding shut the iron ring. Her attention wavered, crumpling under an awareness of...of... _something_. Her movement slowed. There was—it was a hot, looming hugeness above her, as if the air was crushing or smothering her. She stopped, and crouched motionless, her arms still embracing the uncompromising living bulk of the Elephant's leg, then very slowly gathered her courage and looked up.

The Elephant had stooped his huge round forehead low, and to one side; what she had felt, she realised, was the strength of his bodyheat pulsating so much closer now, and that the air had thickened more with his strong breathings. The head was much lower, but she saw no sign of consciousness in the one amber-coloured eye in her range of vision. He was not looking at her—she wondered if he even realised that she was there, or if he also just felt a _something,_ an unknown irritating buzzing or scratching on the edges of his mind.

If there was indeed still _mind_ , inside that body. Treated for an unknown number of years as just a useful machine, cut off from language and kindness and even from the sight of its own kind, without speech, without contact...

His trunk surged ponderously across in front of her, and the _whoosh_ of air against her face as it passed made plain the weight and the power of it. _It could smash me aside without even noticing_ , she thought detachedly. _It could kill me without even knowing I'm here. _Susan would hate that.__

Her mind began to clear, and slowly she resumed the rasping against the fragile remnant of the imprisoning link. _I'm sorry Susan!_ she thought. _I'm really sorry! But I can't stop now._

The trunk swung past again, so close she felt the hairs brush lightly over her arm, and rested against the iron ring. There was so little left now of the link; she shifted again to cut across the remaining sharp, leaf-thin edges.

The trunk pushed at her arm, seemed to flinch, curled away, and then returned. And not the trunk alone now, but the soft, powerful lips of the trunk's end were probing at the iron ring, then, terrifyingly, at her hands, at her arm, like an immensely strong mouth moistly groping, slithering lightly over her wrist. She twisted her arm away, to rasp again at the last shreds of the link.

Dimly, she was aware that Kirrina had stood again, and moved in close, very close and very, very intent.

The mouthlike trunk's-end came back, knocked against her upper arm, and moved deliberately down again to her wrist, feeling, _exploring._

And now she knew without any doubting. There _was_ mind at work here. There was consciousness in the delicate, probing, precision of that exploration. Whatever there might be of anger, of _madness,_ to face, this was a conscious, thinking Elephant, a real person with a real mind.

And a mind to do... it could be _anything_ , she thought, and swallowed hard to crush the rising surge of fear, scraping again, faster, more fiercely. It felt now like a race between them, between the questing ends of the trunk and her own quest to free this Narnian. If he once tried to grip her wrist, as he was now merely touching it... If it came to a tussle between them... the power that was in this Beast could brush her aside like a spiderweb. She scored down across the last shreds of the link, as the fingerlike tips crawled down her wrist to the file, and mouthed hesitantly across the bright sharp diamonds; she twisted the file down and away. One last slash across the link, she thought desperately, one _last..._

And the link broke open.

She reached her arms around the Elephant's leg, was knocked backwards as he half-raised that foot, and smashed it down again on the ground. She struggled up, and knelt again beside the cuffed leg, slipping the broken link clear of the clasps, grasped with her two hands the two sides of the iron ring, summoned all her strength and wrenched it wide open, and the chain fell free.

And instantly, Kirrina's arms were around her waist, and she was being dragged back-back-back, until they both fell on the ground, safe and away from the trampling feet.

She hardly even noticed. "I've freed _one_ ," she thought in dazed triumph, and said it aloud: "I've freed _one_ , Kirrina!"

Kirrina sat up, but did not loosen her grasp. She spoke sombrely.

"You have saved _one_. You have done well. But there are four more, and we are not safe yet, even with this _one._ "

"Oh _Kirrina!_ "

The joy of hearing that word, _we_ , of feeling the River's strength holding her, and helping her, was overwhelming. She turned in Kirrina's arms and hugged her in return as tight as she could, and laughed in her excitement. "Oh Kirrina, we're _nearly_ safe! We _know_ now that we can do it! We just have to hurry in case the Telmarines come back from their whatever-it-is."

"This one is free, but angry."

"Yes, I know. I know you said, and you said he's what we _call mad_ , too. I know that." She scrambled to her feet.

"Long pain and taught fear have caged his mind."

"I know." She looked measuringly at the Elephant, whose trunk was now lashing angrily, frighteningly, across the space where she had been. "I know, but... _oh! caged!_ "

"Queen?"

" _Caged!_ Oh, I see it now! _This is my task_ , he said. In Edmund's story."

"Who said? What do you see?"

"Father Christmas - he is the one who can go through cages! He is..." she was fumbling for the diamond flask which hung at her side. "He is the one, and he gave it to me, and so _I_ am the one, and it's _my_ task..."

"Winterfather?"

"Yes. It's too long to say, but..."

The Queen stopped and looked doubtfully at the size of her flask, and at the Elephant.

"Wait, Kirrina, I have to think."

Kirrina pulled at her arm, tugging her a little further away from the Elephant; his head and trunk were lifted high now and his ears were spreading wide.

"He said if anyone was hurt, just a few drops... but I don't think I can even reach... Ohhh... waitwaitwait. I have to _think._ "

**o-o-o**

A few more meaningless filler exercises, and then the pent-up tension and fun of this game of passing coded messages under the very eyes of his watcher found vent in one perfectly executed cartwheel, ending exactly as it should have done, close to where Mavram stood, under the broad side-eaves of the house.

He stood there, panting and half-laughing with exhilaration, but she turned her eyes away, now, as if determined to be unimpressed with his skill.

"Yesterday you juggled to amuse my little sister; are these boys' tricks to amuse me?" She darted a quick look at him; he thought she was genuinely puzzled, although there seemed to be an anger there, as well. "Or are they to amuse yourself? I did not think Telmar had so little of interest to offer, that you must play idle tricks to fill your time. _Telmar_ 's leaders do not play."

He felt his grin fade. It was true, he had allowed himself _play_ , unthinkingly, letting slide the business of establishing Narnian prestige and good relations with these near neighbours, which bound him as much as his overt quest to find and free the Elephants. His exultation in the working of his code melted into nothing—and it had, after all, proved too little for Susan's message. Susan, who had made such a good beginning in diplomacy, and now he had...He set his teeth and summoned up what words he could to repair the damage.

"For my own amusement, Mistress? No—though to have such variety of fast and slow moving, to feel my body obey me in what you call _boys' tricks_ , does please me. But I undertake this work for serious purpose, to keep my body ready for whatever action Narnia or the Lion needs from me. Idle days can make a man unfit for action. As for Telmar—I have seen and learned much here, thanks to your graciousness, and your mother's, and have delighted in it. I would see more, save that I leave here tomorrow, to see the Elephants who haul timber for you."

"Tomorrow? But Hoom is not yet returned."

"Then he must hurry after me on the road," Edmund said. "If you will come to show me the way, then do so, or if Gul or Reznar or Nem or all of you at once, or none... but I leave tomorrow."

Mavram looked at him sharply, but whatever she might have said was forestalled by a cool, hard call from across the settlement.

It was Hurrdah who called; she was approaching with her usual firm step, though her face was showing a curious mixture of determination and reluctance.

Acting under compulsion, then, Edmund decided. But who here could put compulsion on this strong woman, he wondered? And then knew the answer, even before she spoke.

"If you have finished your leapings, King, I have more sober work for you."

"More sober work?"

"You have been called. Wisemother has bidden me bring you to her."

"And I ask nothing better," he said, with all the courtesy proper to a Narnian ambassador, and then, again, in the surging excitement at the thought of all the new knowledge that this _Wisemother_ might be able to give him, "Truly, I could ask nothing better!"

**o-o-o**

A little house, Izrah had said, and it was so indeed. A house small enough to be easily built by two or three in a day, maybe—not much more than a hut. The sides were of springy wattles, tied in slender tall bundles, and then held together by interthreadings of plant-fibre; the roof was a rough kind of thatching. There were windows, of woven-leaf panels held open with a stick, and a door of woven leaves as well. That this old woman could live here in such a lightly-made dwelling and in security spoke well for the peace of Telmarine society hitherto, he thought grimly, but such a house would be no protection at all if these Telmarines learned from present divisions the bitter art of civil war.

He pulled his mind away from such imaginings. He was here for Narnia, not to worry about Telmarine futures. He stooped and followed Hurrdah over the low wooden doorsill.

The darkness, after the sunshine outside, was disconcerting; he stood, motionless, waiting until until his eyes had adjusted to the dim interior, and he could make out the hunched figure in the shadows. Hurrdah turned, and looked at him curiously, then turned again to address the one who sat there.

"This is the King, Wisemother."

He took a short step forward then, and bent his head, his thoughts a jumble of respect for her age, of the need to maintain the prestige of Narnia and of memories of his first blunder with the Nharhh .

"Greetings, Wisemother, if one who is not a son of Telmar may so call you."

There came a wheezy half-laugh from the shadows.

"Call me as you find, and I will call you as I will. Who are you?"

"My name is Edmund. I am a King of Narnia."

"So much I have heard, but there is more to know. Are you..." She breathed in twice, as if gathering her strength to speak. "...the King who has come by sea?"

He was silent, a moment, unsure what she meant. Did she mean Aslan? The Lion was said by the Narnians to come from across the sea. He was not Aslan, but Aslan had made him king. Then, before he could speak, Hurrdah's voice came from one side, tinged with scorn.

"If he is so, would he tell us?"

That stung. He spoke quickly.

"If it were so, I would tell you, but no, I did not come across the sea. My brother and sisters and I came by land, by the Western Wild of Narnia."

"Ahh..." There was a sigh from the shadows. "Not by sea."

He could not tell if her tone hinted satisfaction or disappointment, and before he could reflect on it she continued with, "I have heard that you have come to claim our elephants, to take for wealthy Narnia the only wealth that Telmar has."

He let pass the jibe about wealth, without allowing or denying it, to go to the more important point.

"Not to claim them, but to free them, if they are Narnians, as Telmarines would try to free a Telmarine who was held captive in a foreign land. This is the proper work of a King, Wisemother, to see justice done."

"To free Telmarines is the proper work of all Telmarines, Easterner, in any land."

She was sharper than he had thought, he reflected, and she was right. Achieving and maintaining freedom and justice was not a work for kings alone.

"I know Telmarines are a free people," he said, "though I have not heard that they have been in any other land than this."

"Have you not?" she said, and there was a hint of triumph in her voice—at his ignorance, he thought.

 _Prestige of Narnia_ he thought again, despairingly. But...

"Since I have not, Wisemother, tell me—what other lands have Telmarines known?"

He could see her eyes more clearly now, and how they looked slyly at him as she spoke.

"What is not seen is not known, Narnian. I have seen no other land than this."

And that was the Telmarine trick again, he thought, to mislead by what was not said plainly.

"You have seen no other land, Wisemother," he began, hesitatingly, "but—" and then his mind flashed to Hoom's chant— _did they not bring us safe through darkness—_ and his question completed itself in a sudden rush. "Wisemother, before your people came through darkness, what land did they know then?"

For what seemed a long time she did not reply. When she did, it was in a sharp, angry whisper.

"We have seen the world change. What is not seen is not known, but we have seen the world change; we know the world can change."

"The land changed?" he asked, thinking of earthquake, or perhaps volcano. "How did the land change?"

"The stars..." she said, and now he heard fear in her whisper as well as anger. "They do as they will. I will not speak against them. Let the lost land go. We must make our own way."

He was silent, trying to understand what she meant, and to understand further the whole meaning of _change_ for Telmar.

They held mutability in contempt, and worshipped the stars, or so Hoom had seemed to say, because the stars did not change. Some—Gul, at least—bitterly resisted change in tradition, and many resented the change which had seen the northern clan achieve ascendancy. And now this Wisemother hinted at an unknown change called going _through darkness,_ and spoke of it as being visited on them by the stars.

But she was speaking again, in a stronger voice.

"We have seen change, and the time has come for us to steer change, not only suffer it. Narnia was green, and trade-roads lay open, and then there was change, and they were closed. Now she who kept Narnia in winter has gone, and Narnia has changed. We of Telmar will change also."

"Narnia's change came by the Lion," he said, but her face showed no comprehension, and he turned to easier matters.

"What changes will you make in Telmar? If you speak of trading, understand that we in Narnia will not allow trade which comes by death or cruelty to Narnians."

"Maybe I speak of the trade-roads, and maybe of other change" she said, and she looked at Hurrdah. "Hoom had great courage, to travel to where it was said kings had come from the sea. Though it is said that the King's ship on the sea is death to the Men of Telmar, he travelled to see this king, to set open the trade-roads. He has the courage to make change, though he will not let himself see it."

"Rittar had courage and wisdom, too," Hurrdah replied, sullenly. "But yes, Hoom's courage is enough."

 _Enough for what?_ Edmund wondered, _and with what effect?_ Hoom's courage in travelling had been in part to manoeuvre his election as leader of Telmar, upsetting what had seemed to be a stable succession of northern leaders. Hurrdah planned to use his courage for revenge on the unknown Capun—and what would follow then? The ill-feeling which seemed to be brewing between the northern and southern clans or factions of Telmarines, and which had already brought one death, might grow, might explode.

"Courage is a great thing for a leader," he said, choosing his words carefully, "but wisdom to build peace is greater. I have seen how good is the life you have made in Telmar, and counsel you..."

"Keep your counsel for the Narnians who sat quiet under winter for a hundred years." Hurrdah flashed. "Is it _peace_ to sit quiet when death falls unjustly? _You_ have not done so! You have come to Telmar on the bare rumour that there is death dealt to Narnians, and you talk proudly of blocking trade for Telmar because of it, and would you have _me_ let slide the death of..." She stopped.

"Not let slide, Mistress, but..."

But what? What could he know of her alternatives? He gave it up. It seemed that Telmar had tradition, but not _law_ to deal with Rittar's murder; the only recourse that Hurrdah saw for injustice was revenge. There were too many cross-currents and unknowns here, he thought, for him to intervene usefully. If he could see a way to help Telmar avoid what seemed increasingly like the possibility of internal enmity, he would do so, but his most pressing duty was to find and rescue Narnia's Elephants, and for that he had restated his position on the trade-road unequivocally; now he might as well turn to the gathering of knowledge for its own sake.

This business of fearing a king from over the sea, for instance; was it some distant memory of ancestral traitors fleeing from their own king, he wondered, or was it an enemy king whose invasion they once had feared?

"Tell me, then, if you will, Wisemother," he began, easily, "why it is said that the king's ship on the sea brings death to the Men of Telmar. Is it death to men only, or to women too?"

**o-o-o**  


The Elephant's head was lifted very high now, and his eyes were darting from one to the other of the two slight girl-shapes before him. His wildly lashing trunk encountered a small bush and he tore it savagely up, and crashed it to the ground, again and again, until there was nothing left of it at all.

Kirrina spoke without taking her eyes from him. "Think quickly, Queen. This one is starting to feel his freedom, and perhaps to feel his pain and anger, too."

"Yes. Yes, I am. Do you think if I put just a drop, just a _drop_ of the cordial in water, say, and gave him a drink of it? What do you think?"

"I think we must act quickly, Queen."

"Well, I'll find something to carry water in, and go to the river. I'll be quick."

Kirrina made a quick, impatient sound— _tsah!_ —and cupped her hands before her.

"Here!" she said, and water began to well up in her hands.

Lucy laughed—a tremulous, breathy, uncertain laugh. "I forgot that! That's what you did before, isn't it?"

Kirrina did not bother to reply, only saying urgently, "Make a bowl of your own hands, Queen! Take the water from me."

"I think he can see you, though, Kirrina. Not like Diamond. He's looking at you."

"It is better that you give to him, so that he learns who succours him. You will use Winterfather's gift?"

"Yes. I will, but... In the story he was able to go through cages. But I don't know if he can do the mind kind of cage..."

"No, you don't _know!_ " Kirrina hissed. "Nor do _I_ know! But we have no time left for thinking now... _Act!_ "

And the water was already brim-full in the cup of her hands. Hurriedly, the Queen let fall one drop of the precious cordial into the palm of her own hand, rubbed both her hands together and then cupped them a little below the River-god's, to catch the tiny, clear rivulet which was beginning to overflow.

"We'll make it from us both then," she said, and together, their hands almost touching, and the water still flowing from one to the other, they stepped forward to confront the Elephant.

**o-o-o**

The moon, almost full, was rising when he left the hut. It had been nearly a full day of listening, asking and answering, and he felt as it ended that he came away with even more respect for the Telmarines, and even more certainty that he needed to establish a constant guard against them, a constant watchfulness on Narnia's western border.

 _We will make our own way_ , the Wisemother had said, and _the time has come for us to steer change_. But did she mean the time now, or had she been steering change from her small hut through her undeniable influence over Hurrdah, at least, for years? Once male knowledge and female knowledge had been kept separate, but some twenty or thirty years ago Hurrdah and Rittar had brought their knowledge together, and forged a whole new technology and way of life; was it their own doing entirely? This old woman had been teaching Nem plant-lore, if Izrah was to be believed; was this a deliberate attempt, a _second_ attempt, to bring about change in a society which seemed otherwise fiercely resistant to change? And if it were such, what then? Already he had seen Hurrdah's and Rittar's new technology of building adapted to power a possible engine of access to Narnia; he liked Nem more than any other Telmarine man he had met, and respected the Wisemother's subtlety and innovation but if between them they brought more change in Telmar, what might be the unintended consequence for neighbouring Narnia? .

The business of the King who came by sea he had not unravelled. It was indeed only the men who were threatened, it seemed, but their mythology did not make plain why it was so, telling only that the men, fleeing from those who would have delivered them up to _the King's ships_ , had compelled or persuaded the women to flee likewise, and that flight had somehow triggered the mysterious change, in which, the Wisemother said, _The gods laid on us the task of learning to know the world anew._

"What was it that you needed to learn anew?" he had asked, "What had been forgotten?" but she had seemed to think the answer too obvious to bother explaining, and it had been Hurrdah who had murmured _what had not been seen was not known, king._

It was a saying which could as easily apply to himself, he thought in frustration; it was only scraps of half-knowledge he was gathering, and what he had not seen, he could not know. Nevertheless... as he walked with Hurrdah back to the great house, the King of Narnia was hard at work, mentally sorting and re-sorting and rearranging everything he had discovered, not just for the joy of new discovery, but to assess Telmar, as Calormen, Archenland, Terebinthia had been assessed, for its potential impact on Narnia.

The knowledge which was kept safe in Narnia through the long Winter in the memory of the Beasts and of the wise and the learned had apparently been lost completely here, to be rediscovered painstakingly and held separately, by men and women, already divided by the legend of the threat and the flight. The process had left Telmar as a society with a sharp division in knowledge and in roles, with the men staking their place in the society on their work as hunters and traders, and the women as holders of plant-lore, and as food-gatherers, though not gardeners. Perhaps there was a place for Narnia there, in friendly co-operation, and in finding new ways to trade?

But there was also the impact of the unexplained knowledge-erasing _darkness_ they had undergone. They had re-established themselves, even to the point of being a people with whom Narnia might consider trade relations, but their resulting unsureness about the world they were in had taught them a crippling fear of change, a fear which had been challenged by some few Telmarines over recent years, and which had led to a backlash of hostility and murder within Telmar, and might lead to more yet—even to civil war.

And most of all, it was a society which was soaked through by a sense of betrayal and anger, a sense that there was a fundamental injustice in the way things were, since their known land or their knowledge had been torn from them by the gods. Even on their first approach to Narnia, he remembered, they had been wound tight with resentment for Narnia's land alone, its fruitfulness, its "wealth", and even its closeness to the sea—a resentment whose folly was even more apparent to him now that he knew that Telmarine men had some old cultural aversion to the sea.

But however much they felt wronged by their star-guides, they still revered them, and feared them. _I will not speak against them_ , the Wisemother had said, and all the men on the journey from Narnia had shown unquestioning reverence to the idea of the unchanging stars. And for that reason, the King mused, they were unable to direct at the stars their simmering sense of wrong. Small wonder then if the anger seemed to be ever turning outward, irrationally, to settle wherever best was found a target for their bitterness and blame—which could make them, at least potentially, a very dangerous neighbour indeed.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The story of Winterfather and Caged Edret, which gives Lucy the inspiration to use Father Christmas's gift for the Elephants, was in Chapter Four.  
> The story of the Telmarines' arrival in the Narnian world "through darkness" is told in Chapter 15 of _Prince Caspian_. I have imagined that the whole story has been garbled over the years, but that the quarrel mentioned there included a threat by some of the pirates to betray others to the king's ships - and under the UK's 1698 Piracy Act, any Admiral had the right to try and to hang pirates anywhere on sea or land;hence the fear of the King's ships coming.
> 
> This was a tough chapter to write; feedback on what worked and what didn't would be much appreciated.  
> I promise Edmund will be back on the road next chapter!


	14. Convergence

There was a high, half-strangled bellowing scream, and the Elephant's trunk crashed down, just missing their hands—the Elephant himself seemed to grow, to be standing higher, on stiff, tense legs, and with wide-spread ears.

"He's not looking any more... he's not even seeing," Lucy whispered.

"He sees us... he does not want to see, but he sees us," Kirrina breathed in reply.

The Elephant shook his head savagely, as if trying to shake away the sight of the two small figures standing before him. He stretched out his trunk, over and past them, to tear at another thin, spiky-leaved shrub, pulling it up by the roots, and whipping it back, high above. A shower of small pebbles and grit fell on them as it passed overhead.

Lucy glanced anxiously at Kirrina, but the River-god's gaze was fixed only on the Elephant; she was smiling to herself, as if she saw some tangle unfolding to simplicity.

"Do not move, Queen," she said, very softly. "He _will_ drink."

The Elephant was smashing the shrub down on the ground beside them, once, twice, again; he trod one heavy foot on it, and tore it up again. What was left now was only a ragged skeleton of a bush; he raised it high again, lashed it through air, only to crash it down across his own face, his own eyes.

His eyes. With horror Lucy saw that tears were streaming down his face; he would not seem to see anything at all, but his face was wet with his crying. She heard a voice call out, and realised it was her own. Worse, worse than the shackles which had held him was this _hurting..._

Kirrina's voice pierced through the turmoil of her pity, holding her still.

"Do _not_ move! He fears, he storms... but he _will_ drink."

And the trunk crashed down again, and dusty fragments of the bush flew in the air around them, and the Elephant stood, panting in slow, heaving breaths. The dust settled down, and it seemed to Lucy that the waiting was interminable, but still she held up her hands, and still the water glistened in the sunlight.

And yes, the trunk moved slowly now, dropped the last few twigs and sniffed uncertainly, to and fro across the Queen's cupped hands, pulled back a little, then dropped again, to snuffle at the water, to crawl down to Lucy's wrist, and then again withdraw, and touch, delicately, so delicately! with one pink tip of the two-fingered trunk, the surface of the water—a still surface now, Lucy saw. Somehow, Kirrina was keeping the water still, brimming and rounded, just precisely at the edge, so that the sunlight glanced, gleaming, at the rim. She did not dare move, not even to look at Kirrina or up to the head which hung heavy above her. She saw only that hovering, questing trunk, its mouth flexing open, as large across as the bowl of her own two hands—flexing open, and touching again the surface of the water, and dipping, and then...

...then drawing it up, in one long sucking, startlingly noisy inhalation.

And then, a silence. Lucy stole a glance upward. The Elephant was gazing out and over their heads, as if thinking what came next, his trunk still dropped down into Lucy's hands. Then, very slowly, he drew away his trunk and coiled it up tucking up and under and against and into his mouth, and drank.

**o-o-o-o-o**

_On the road at last_ , Edmund thought with relief.

He had not been able, for reasons of courtesy, to leave before the household was awake. Good relations— _Narnia's_ good relations—with this near-neighbour country could well pivot on his good relations with these people now. But it had been a long—it had _felt_ like, he corrected himself—a long period of waiting for the household to wake, stifling his impatience as the light of the full moon, sinking between a tangle of forest trees, gave way slowly to the pale early morning sun, and then to full daylight.

And with it the realisation that he was watched—of _course_ he had been being watched! As the sunlight had gradually pierced the shadows, he had realised that Gul was sitting immobile beside one of the tall tree-columns supporting the balcony roof, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the king seated in the doorway.

Now, striding along the forest path, Edmund felt his lips stretch into a smile, a grin. Whatever Gul had been waiting for had been forestalled. He had managed the leave-taking from the settlement with good will on both sides, later than he would have liked, but well-provisioned for the journey, and accompanied by exactly those he would have chosen, had he been given the choice: Reznar, who stood in some sort as the heir of Rittar, and thus was a potential leader of these people; Wily, as a sturdy and strong companion, known from the trek from Narnia; Mavram, valuable for her keen perceptions and the insights she provided—consciously or not—into Telmarine thinking; and Nem, for his cheerful company. Gul, somewhat to the King's surprise, had chosen to remain at the village settlement—to his surprise and to his relief. Hoom, of course might yet be met on the road, depending on the results of the meeting with the Northerners, but, in the meantime...

In the meantime, it was cheerful journey they were making. Away from Gul's—or Hoom's!—glowering presence, or Hurrdah's tight-wound focus on her bitterness, the four younger Telmarines were noticeably lighter-hearted company. Nem and Wily returned to their old ways of half-teasing, half-challenging each other as they went—each other, and even the King.

"Try this, Mu-majesty!" Nem called now, and ran ten or so paces ahead, leaping to catch at a low-hanging bough and swing himself up into a tree.

Edmund smiled, but Mavram's jeer at his _playing_ was too recent for him to want to endanger his dignity—Narnia's dignity—again. Still, it was a relief to be surrounded by such ease and good nature, he thought.

"Too much of a man to climb, hey, king?" Nem had paused now on his bough, and was eyeing another, a little lower, a little ahead, on another tree.

 _Too much of a man..._ It still seemed strange that dealing with plants was so strongly seen as woman's business for these people.

Nem leapt, and triumphantly achieved his target; leaves scattered below and a bird flapped leisurely up from that tree, to settle again, briefly, a little way ahead, and then fly further again.

The King looked quickly at Mavram; she was still walking beside him sedately, apparently uninterested, though Reznar seemed half-inclined to join the sport.

"Will you climb with him, perhaps, Mistress?" he asked, hoping to maybe gain a little time to observe more closely the beckoning flick of flight-patterns against the shadowy green, "since trees are plants, and women have to do with all plants in Telmar."

"Climbing trees is business, not pleasure." she replied, a little sharply. "Men may play at what women do to keep Telmar alive; I will climb when I see what must be climbed for—which is _not_ amusement, King, _nor_ bird-watching."

There was a new hint of impatience, or even indignation, in her tone, and Edmund took warning, and turned his attention to her for the time, with carefully courteous, cheerful conversation with her and her brother as they walked, to warm her tone again.

Nevertheless, he thought keenly as they walked and talked. She had observed more closely than he liked; he had indeed been distracted by that swoop of black wings ahead, and the flickering movements beyond the green. Crimtwing, he thought, or Quick-in-all, judging from the smoothness of the flight—but if Mavram was already half-alert to his watching, the message would have to wait.

**o-o-o-o-o**

She had had, after all, to go slowly, as Kirrina had said. The draught tinctured with her cordial had calmed the Elephant, and gradually he had allowed himself to see them, though he did not seem to know what they were, or what he was, or to know that communication was possible between them.

"Go gently, Queen." Kirrina had said. "He has not only been cut off from his own kind, but from all recognition that he is more than a device to pull the ferry. He has withdrawn deep into himself, and the return is hard and painful. You have eased the pain somewhat with this gift of the Winterfather, but go slowly, Queen."

And to go slowly had been _hard_ , with the knowledge always pressing on her that the Telmarines would be back, sooner or later, though there had been no word yet from the Ravens that the return was near.

Nevertheless, she had persevered, choking down her own eagerness, and only advancing by infinitesimal degrees, as the Elephant seemed willing to allow her, from stroking the long trunk, to embracing it, and laying her cheek against it. By infinitesimal degrees, and only as he seemed willing to passively allow. It was long and the day had stretched to afternoon before Lucy could feel there was any true response from the Elephant, any recognition that he was a person, and could respond to her as to another person. Even then, it was only a shivering, a flinching away and then hesitantly returning, a quickening of his breath, and a movement of his ears, but the Queen—her eyes closed, and _listening_ with her whole body—knew that they had achieved a new step to freedom for this Narnian, though she could feel, too, how hard it was for him, as if his self was unfolding after long and cramped entombment into the light; he was puzzled and silent and fearful.

"It may be harder yet for those still to come," Kirrina warned her then. "This one has been beside the river, which laps and changes and flows, but those ones who have paced ceaselessly to turn the great wheel have seen nothing but their own dusty tracks..."

" _Nothing but_ ," said Lucy, savagely. " _Nothing but_ their own tracks to see, and being _nothing but_ walking useful machines to the Telmarines... I think I _hate_ Telmarines, Kirrina."

"Think on what is here, not on what is not." said Kirrina, practically and dispassionately, and Lucy nodded, and turned again with growing confidence to tenderly stroke down all that she could reach of the Elephant's trembling, leathery trunk.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The Telmarines, no less than he himself, were eager to use the full moon's light to make a long day's journey of it, Edmund found.

"We shouldn't waste a moon like this," Reznar had said earnestly. " 's bright enough to walk by."

"Bright enough to walk by," the King agreed, and raised his voice a little. "Bright enough to read by."

There was no reply to that, and he had expected none; he had not spoken to be understood, but to be heard by one who flitted noiselessly through the shadows of the trees along the way, and as well—he grinned to himself—to relish speaking with a hidden meaning. The moon _was_ bright, but the message he hoped to read by its light, supposing that they camped eventually in a clearing large enough that he could see the sky, would not be written on parchment, but in the sky.

The clearing where they stopped, a weary time later, was large enough, he found, but to see a black bird against the black sky was no easy task. No quick glancing would suffice this night, he thought. The others had moved to set up camp, but still were too close—and Mavram's observation too keen—to risk his usual exercises.

Well, more than one way to crack an egg! He slumped down, his head thrown back, against a tree; feigned exhaustion could hide the keenness of scanning behind half-closed eyes. He settled himself, and waited; there came the quiet stroke of wings over head, and he began to spell his message, word by word.

Beware. The message began as had that of the day before, but this was not a message from Cair Paravel. This warning came, therefore, from the Raven himself—or herself; bright moon notwithstanding, it was too dark to see which of the seven it was. And if so, it was a warning about a near threat, a threat seen and observed by this messenger. The King peered into the night.

A complicated tumbling turn—not a sign he had seen since he had left the Cair. It was a name, but... the King ransacked his memory. A sign they'd agreed, of course, but... _Gul!_ It was the sign for Gul, devised long months ago, but never yet needed, never yet used.

He signalled _Understood_ , thanking Aslan as he did so that that message required only the simplest of movements; even slow-thinking Reznar would surely be moved to suspicion if _the Easterner_ were to leap up now and attempt any more active gymnastics, after a day's march as long as this had been.

_South-East._

And he did not understand, but he could risk no clear question. Was Gul following him, secretly? Following all of them, south-east to the timber-camp? And why _Beware_?

And then Nem's voice, indefatigably good-humoured, cut across his thinking.

"King? Ready to eat?"

The Raven had already drifted back into the shadows. Edmund, with what grace he could muster, joined the others around the fire.

**o-o-o-o-o**

It took longer than he liked for the firelight to leave his eyes again, so that he could again make out the silent swoops and turns of the message. The Raven had wisely chosen to begin again, and so he spelt out more easily the beginning of it.

_Gul. Travels. South-East._

And then, with more difficulty, the words that followed.

_Unknown. Meeting. From the South. One Man. South. Beware._

And once again, he did not understand, completely, and once again, lacking the means to ask the questions filling his mind, he signalled _Understood_.

First Susan's warning about a Southerner, and now Gul, travelling, it seemed—though the message had been unsure on this point—to meet a man from the South. The simplest explanation, the obvious explanation, was that these were the same man, and if so he needed to know more precisely what Susan had meant. But the simplest explanation might not be the right one, he thought fretfully, and then—his last thought as he fell asleep— _I must find a way to speak with the Ravens soon_.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The sun had been beginning to slip down into the western forest, and one corner of her mind was wondering if they would sleep that night, when the Elephant of his own volition had curled his trunk around her wrist; by the time the huge yellow moon had floated up from the Eastern Sea she could feel that he was at ease—uncomprehending but willing—to pad after her as she walked. And so...

"Can we go by night, do you think?" she asked. "We should have moonlight enough, if it stays clear."

"You hear where is the next? And this one is ready?"

"I... I _think_ I can. It's hard, with him close to me. But I _think_ I do. I think he is."

"And I _think_ ," Lucy could hear a quiet amusement bubbling up in her friend's voice, "I _think_ that the Queen's listening for her own can be trusted. Yes, we will go."

It was a strange, dreamlike journey. Lucy focussed all her strength on holding to the thin thread of sound or feeling—she could hardly tell which it was—which called to her away south; she was dimly aware that Kirrina was moving restlessly ahead and then returning, repeatedly, but could not spare attention to ask why; the Elephant trustfully, uncomprehendingly, padded behind.

The day's heat was still in the earth as they set out, but before long they came to the river, drifting inexorably eastwards. Lucy shivered. Mist was rising above the river-surface, and the ceaseless flow seemed to be leaching the warmth from the air above; the waters were dark under the brightness of the moon; they seemed strange and unforgiving. But a _river_...

"Kirrina?"

"Queen?"

"I need your help!"

"Think you so?"

Kirrina's voice was oddly charged with meaning, as if she were trying to remind Lucy of something she should know already. Once again she slipped past the girl and the Elephant, glanced back with one swift, secret smile, then slid into the water.

Lucy stood in the wide silence of the night, pondering. Kirrina had not said _No_ , and would not, surely, leave her alone to fail here. Perhaps it was up to her now, to brave the river? But if she tried to _swim_... She had been learning, but she wasn't anything like as good as Su. And would he follow, anyway? He seemed so far to be following her without thinking, which wasn't as good as if he _was_ thinking, of course, but then it might be better than him thinking too much about wading into the dark where you couldn't even see...

She shuddered.

And then as she stood trying to summon courage for the first plunge into unknown water she felt the Elephant drop her wrist, and then felt his trunk curl irresistibly around her waist and she felt herself hoisted high into the air, and then settled—impersonally, automatically, as if she were just one more load of his working life—onto his broad neck.

She gasped and fell forward, pressing down tightly against him, as hard as she could, sure that only the friction of her skin against his rough hide could keep her from sliding off and dropping into cold emptiness. And then she felt in the broad neck-muscles beneath her the heavy shifting roll of his shoulders as he trod forward, to splash with strong and steady feet into the moonlit river.

Half-way across Kirrina surfaced again, laughing, and now river-music was mingling with the constant, distant thrumming of the call, and Lucy, still clinging limpet-like to the Elephant's neck, was able, shakily, to laugh in reply, and everything seemed possible again.

**o-o-o-o-o**

She stayed on the Elephant's back for most of that seemingly endless, unreal night, pressed against his warm hide, feeling beneath her his swaying, rolling gait, and around her the cool air, washed silver by the moon. It was like being in a story, she thought sleepily, or a long, long song, first the river-song, and then the swoosh of wind in trees, and soft steady padding like muffled drums to mark the rhythm of it, and through it all the deep, throbbing call of that other Elephant's being.

The sky was already light when she woke with a jerk, and only just saved herself from falling. The Elephant had stopped dead. The call was so _strong_ —she wondered how she could ever have been sleeping with that intensity of sound-below-sound.

"Kirrina!" she called. "It's... we are very close now!"

"Then come down, Queen."

"I don't know _how!_ "

Kirrina was silent; she would not tell, Lucy realised, what she thought the Queen should know or find for herself. So... she sat up higher, swung both her legs to one side of the Elephant's neck, took a deep breath and slid to the ground.

Kirrina nodded encouragement as she staggered and recovered, but the Elephant did not seem to notice her. His head was raised, as it had been when he was angry, but Lucy could feel that this was not anger, this was shock... as if something entirely new had broken into his world. She turned her head—but she did not really need to look. She knew already what he must be seeing, and yes, now she saw it herself, not so very far away, lit by the first rays of the sun—another shape, another prisoner to be freed, and meanwhile this first one needing, surely, to be calmed and helped to face so great a change in his world.

She went to his head, and touched his trunk lightly, and the soft searching tip of it wandered, uncertainly, across her forearm, and then hesitatingly returned to coil again, as it had the day before, around her wrist, and then... then she was sprawling on the ground, so suddenly had that tentative, confiding trunk whipped away from her, and the Elephant had left her there, and all his puzzlement and fear had dropped away from him and he was lumbering, _thundering_ across the ground and trumpeting aloud in recognition and amazement that there was... Certainly he knew, thought Lucy, certainly he _knew_ that this was a creature like himself; whatever the clouds still over his long-buried mind, his _self_ saw and recognised this other Elephant as being of his kind, and his whole self had turned to an urgent need to be with that other _._

And that other Elephant had seen too, and heard, and now reared up in an equal amazement, his eyes fixed on the form charging now towards him. This one, too, lifted his trunk and trumpeted, and shied back and twisted and plunged from side to side in a fury of eagerness to be free and to meet his fellow, tugging at the chain which held him prisoner... and in the last instant, there was one final wrenching pull and Lucy, breathless, saw the chain snap like a thread, and this new Elephant started forward even as the first strode two paces, and the two huge forms surged together in a bright cloud of dust, jarring the earth.

Lucy felt a choking and a pricking behind her eyes that was nothing to do with the dust, nor with any doubt or fear.

Blindly, she groped behind her, and felt no surprise when Kirrina grasped her hand.

"You are glad, Queen?" she heard, and nodded speechlessly, and for a little while the two were silent, drinking in the sight of the Elephants swaying together and then drawing apart to look again at each other, then rubbing their huge heads together dumbly, nuzzling, their trunks curled and entwined and their whole majestic beings quivering with the newness of their joy.

**o-o-o-o-o**

His spirits lifted at the first sight—the first sounds!—of the timber-camp. There was the bustle of work in progress—he could see one giant log being split, as Mavram had said, by a wedge-and-hammer technique, and all the stir of a campsite making ready for the evening meal. And there was action, too, which he guessed was not work, but seemed to be some sort of game in progress, away at the far northern end of the site—shouts and whoops from a small knot of men, running and laughing and calling to each other.

The simple hilarity and energy were heartening to see; these Telmarines, it seemed, were of the same boisterous humour as Nem and Wily, who had repeatedly made a game of running and buffeting at each other. He almost thought they might leave to join in this now, but it seemed not; their faces showed, if anything, a curious reluctance to even appear to notice the exuberant rough-and-tumble.

He flashed a grin across to Mavram, thinking of how much more easy his signalling would be in this environment, and saw her puzzled smile in return.

"You like our timber-camp, King?"

"It seems a cheerful place," he returned easily, "and here I will meet my own Narnians, and your people will see they think and feel, and..."

He had begun the sentence as subterfuge, but before the end he felt a real joy sweep through him, at the thought of the great achievement waiting here, the freeing and the triumphant leading back to the Herd of the timber-slaves.

"It is a great day," he finished simply.

"I hope you find it so," she replied, frowning a little. "King, our people want friendship with yours, however this trial of our elephants will end. We want only to be like Narnia, and trade like you, with the gifts the stars have given us."

"With the gifts given you," he shot back, "not with lives stolen from others. But," as he saw her brows draw together in vexation, "we will not waste our time word-chopping, Mistress! Where are my people?"

"Our elephants,"—it was said with a delicate but unmistakeable emphasis—"are kept close by the timber-cutting; they are moved as we move. But I will take you."

She led him across the broad clearing, into the forest and a little south, and Reznar, Nem and Wily went with them. As they got closer he could see among the trees a work-gang of some twenty Beasts, ranked in two long rows; closer still, and he saw they were forcibly held, chained and shackled, each to the next.

"Why must they be chained, even when they are not hauling timber?" he demanded of Reznar, but it was Nem who cut in.

"It's best to keep them as they're accustomed to being, King. Any change in routine can upset them. We do care for them well, here. They get good treatment."

He shrugged. Telmarine ideas of _good treatment_ were, after all, utterly irrelevant to his mission. More important was its simple urgency. If Gul was plotting with some mysterious _Southerner_ then he needed to be done here and away before whatever mystery it was burst on him. He needed to convince the Telmarines, quickly, and then to begin the journey back to the Herd.

"Does Hoom meet us here? Or whose word will be sufficient that these have shown their personhood?" he asked.

"If they could show _that_ , King, you will not need other witnesses!" said Mavram in tones of gentle, resigned, disbelieving humour. "If you think you can prove they speak..."

He did not stay to hear the rest.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Close to, they were disconcertingly many, disconcertingly large, and disconcertingly reminiscent of his encounter with Rummornornarhh and the Herd. Rummornornarhh had been scornful, hostile and bitter; the rest of the Herd scarcely less so; he had expected to be welcomed as their king and rescuer, and had found he was condemned as an ineffectual upstart.

In the end he had wrung from them one concession: to hear him again, if he could find and return to them their kidnapped children. These chained ones before him were adults now, he thought, but the Ravens had assured him they were thinking, feeling beings, showing compassion for each other, if not speech. Surely these here were those kidnapped many years past, the lost ones of the Herd.

But if they had no speech... He felt again what Rummornornarhh had shown him—how inadequate he was for this task. But it was up to him, and Peter and Susan and Lucy all trusted him, and he had promised, and... He took one deep breath, and began.

"Narnians!"

Simultaneously, the whole long line, and those behind, turned their heads, and looked at him; it was unexpectedly daunting.

"I... Cousins! I have come from Narnia to..."

They were all still looking at him, and he could swear that their eyes showed awareness, as the Ravens had said, but he saw no compassion. The gaze which pressed on him from these prisoners was remote, cold and judging.

"I have come to help you gain your freedom."

No response. Their eyes showed that they knew that he spoke to them—and dismissed him. They swayed in their chains with an enormous, contemptuous indifference.

"You are... Friends, you were born for freedom, not for slavery! The free Herd waits..."

He could hear his own voice faltering; it sounded thin, unconvincing. One of the Elephants turned away, angled his whole body to stare coldly away from the King, and slowly the whole line swayed, and shifted, and followed suit.

So. These Elephants, no more than the ferry-slaves or the capstan-slaves, would answer his voice. But those had not had mind, he thought, whereas these—it was plain to his eyes, that they looked at him with knowledge, even if they had no language. With knowledge and with bitter resentment. This was not mindlessness; it was refusal, an angry, wilful determination not to speak.

"Come away, King," came Nem's voice. "You've tried. Come back away and we'll see about getting some evening meal for you."

"No." Did they take him for a child? He needed to be alone to choke down the bitter taste of failure. "No, I will stay here the night."

"That is not wise, King." It was Mavram. "If you will, we will bring just one elephant over for you, in the morning, but now come with us, and rest."

"No." He didn't want to look at her, no matter how kind was the triumph in her eyes. "No. I'll stay."

"King, leave it. Come with us." Nem's voice had even a shade of urgency in it now, and he looked up, surprised, and became aware, perplexedly, that the game or chase, or whatever it was, had drawn much nearer, had edged along the clearing and were closer now to this edge of the forest.

Still laughing, still cheering—though now that they were closer he heard a more jeering, mocking note to the voices.

A crowd of Men running, shouting and laughing, lashing at something in among them, a small bumbling shape, stumbling, hardly bigger than a goat, and they were edging it this way, it was...

But he did not stay to complete his thought, nor to hear Mavram's shout of "King!" nor Nem's: "It's all right! Mudsmoke, it's all right! They don't feel it! They've got tough hides! It doesn't hurt them!"

He was running, pelting without thought as hard as he could through the forest-edge towards that moving crowd, and then had burst in among them, in amongst the tall Telmarines, and was grabbing and flinging them aside until he had got through to it, to their victim—a little rounded, stumbling Elephant child, no more than a baby, its eyes wild, and its mouth open, terrified, and crying, raising its trunk in a high squealing baby-bellow... _Nhaarhh!_ , it called, pleadingly, desperately. _Nhaaarhh!_

And the Elephants of the line were shifting and trumpeting back, and there was shouting and confusion all around him, but above it all he could hear a mighty voice like the voice of a Giant shouting, "Stand back! Let none of you dare to _touch_ this Elephant! In the name of Narnia, stand _back!"_

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking of these two sets of Elephants as suffering differently, from different circumstances. The timber-Elephants have been kidnapped as babies, and have no real grasp of language, but do have strong social interaction among themselves. The ferry-Elephants and capstan-Elephants have in addition to the kidnap trauma and the lack of language, been totally socially isolated. I don't know of any studies of the effects of prolonged social isolation in elephants (and trust that no-one would ever want to do them). Studies of other animals have shown mental and behavioural disturbance, including fear and self-harm; further clinical studies would obviously be vile and unethical.


	15. Speaking

"There is much value in your honest avowal of misdoing, Diamond, but you were very wrong to speak as you did."

The Bird uttered a hard, croaking laugh. She tilted her head to one side, and fixed the Queen with sharp, self-mocking eye.

"Her Majesty your sister was plain to tell me so!"

The Queen waited, unmoving, and the old Raven clattered her beak restlessly and then spoke in lower tone.

"The lesson is learned, Majesty. Narnia's valiant sovereign is not my nestling."

"Not the Queen Lucy, nor any of your sovereigns. I tell you plainly, good Diamond—wise counsel we receive gladly, but we will not tolerate subversion of our intent. If you would remain in our service, learn when is a time to speak, and when to obey."

"I hear." This time the croak had something of a tremor in it, and for an instant the brave pretence crumbled, and old Diamond looked, as she truly was, time-worn and unhappy. "Majesty... I would continue in Narnia's ser..." The harsh voice broke on the word.

The Queen glanced sideways at Windseer. He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Then so continue, Diamond. And," Queen Susan's voice softened, "for the greater ease of your mind, and mine, I bid you so arrange that there will always be one of you seven travelling with the Queen, and more, that one Raven will fly each day to her, with such messages as I send and one back to me with her greetings."

"It will be done!" She hopped a little, in Raven style, to show her satisfaction. "I thank you for this kindness, Queen."

Queen Susan's eyed rested on her, acutely and compassionately.

"The duty of so arranging is yours, Head Raven, but the flying is not. It will be arduous, fit for younger Ravens, as Sootfeather, Crimtwing, Quick-in-all and Brightbeak, since we do not know how far or how long the Queen may need to travel. You and which other of the seven as you choose are still to travel on the King Edmund's business."

The old Raven returned keen look for look. "I understand. And I obey, gentle Queen."

****

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Nhaarrrh!" The whimpering squeal sounded again; the echoes of the King's voice still rang on the forest air.

The little one looked up with terrified eyes at his protector, then pressed very hard, very close against his chest. "Nhaarrrhhh..."

The cry was muted now. Edmund felt rather than heard it, as a buzzing through his solar plexus, where the tender mouth flexed wetly against him, crying. The King curled one arm protectively around the soft, whiskery head. He could hear his own voice still: _Let none of you dare... in the name of Narnia._ So much for diplomacy! he thought grimly, and with that thought looked up and around him.

The scattered scrum was only just beginning to stir from its startled silence. He heard one among them murmur "Stars!" and thrust out one hand, covertly, as if warding off a malign influence. Mavram and Reznar were further off, their faces startlingly alike in their shock, regarding the king with wide, wary eyes. Nem, too, was looking at him as at something new and strange, but also calculatingly. When the Telmarine spoke, it was with a careful assumption of the appearance of good fellowship.

"You are a man of surprises, Mu... Majesty. Never know what you'll do next."

And once again, it seemed they thought—even while calling him _man_ —that he could be treated as a child, as if he would tamely let himself be enticed back into the easy comradeship of the road. No, by the Mane! He had cried out as a King of Narnia, almost as Peter might have cried, and he could not go back now. He lifted his voice to address them all.

"Hear me, Telmarines; I speak now in accordance with the bond entered into between us, between Narnia and Telmar."

Mavram seemed to be overcoming her uncertainty; she moved past Nem, murmuring something as she passed. Edmund continued to speak to the group at large.

"This child, this Elephant, is Narnian, and has _spoken_ before you all..." He looked now directly to Mavram and to Reznar, further back."...and _has thereby won his freedom!_ "

And not one of them understood him, he saw.

Mavram, Reznar, Nem—he could not see Wily—all alike seemed utterly confounded, as if he were simply not making sense at all. Around him the scrum was beginning to gather together again, and he sensed hostility and even mockery in their faces, and in the mutterings he heard.

"King..." It was Mavram, closer now; she spoke in cautious, mystified tones. "We heard no word spoken."

And so... well, perhaps he should have expected that! But if they did not yet understand, he would make it plain.

"Not a word in Human talk, but in his own language, the language spoken in the Herd! Listen!..." He pulled away a little from the Calf, and yes, even now, the word was plain to hear, in a broken, hiccupping murmur— _nha-a-arh..._ "You hear him!"

A moment's silence. Then...

"King..." She spoke carefully—almost soothingly, he thought with misgiving. "...what is it that you think the calf says?"

"He calls for the Nhaarh, for the mothers of his Herd."

"Ahhh... " Amusement flickered in her face, and in the glances she exchanged with her brother and the other men about. "I am only a woman, King..." He felt a baffled fury rising in him at that— _only_ a woman... "not a hunter, nor a team-master, but even I know..."

She turned to her brother, as if encouraging him to speak, and Reznar filled in her silence.

"It's just a noise, King! It's just the sound they make when they're young, like the little goats bleat. They all make that noise when they're young."

Nem too, smiling widely: "Majesty, we've all handled elephants before; believe us, this is how they all are at this age."

And now there was open grinning in the crowd, and some mocking murmurs— _must be that's how the Easterners speak... they just snort to each other!_ —and they began to close in again.

Edmund placed himself more squarely before the little one.

"Stand back! This Elephant is _not_ your captive now."

His voice did not sound in his ears as it had earlier, mightily, but it was still, he could hear, a steady voice, speaking with the grave certainty of a king. _Thank you, Aslan,_ he breathed. _Thank you for not letting my voice crack now._

Mavram was next to him now, speaking low. "If we have somewhat to talk about, King, let us do it alone, not before all these." Then, raising her voice, "We thank you, hunters! You have delivered us a fine calf, and our house is grateful."

She glanced to Reznar; he responded quickly as if by formula. "You have done good service today, and we welcome such supporters to our house."

The little knot of men hesitated, then undid itself into ones and twos, and drifted away, with nods of respect to Mavram and to Reznar—even, the King noted, to Nem.

"And now," Mavram began again, "will not this new one be more comfortable with the log-hauling team than here, no matter how kind a Narnian king may be?"

There was still a tinge of amusement in her voice, and her deft assumption of control was not to his taste, but Edmund curbed his resentment. It was true; the Calf would be better with his own kind, and surely, he thought, given a quiet space in which to show them, it would not be long now before he would _make_ these Telmarines see the reality before their eyes, _make_ them know that a word had been spoken.

****

**o-o-o-o-o**

The restlessness the team-Elephants had shown when the Calf had cried out had quieted; the King saw that they had seen his action, and they were pondering its meaning, and he felt his spirits rise. If they could begin to trust him now, then they would surely respond to his speaking, and the Telmarines would have to accept...

They were nearing the line of chained team-Elephants now, and another thought struck him.

"This Calf—how will he feed without his mother? He is still little enough to need milk, not fodder!"

Nem—it was Nem who was nearest—smiled indulgently. "Don't you worry, King. We know how to handle it. Most of these are cows—the males are better for the working alone, like you saw already. So we've got plenty of cows here, and one of them will take it on."

"But this is an infant! He needs his mother; he needs _milk!_ "

"See, King, we know elephants..."

_And you don't!_ was implicit. Edmund choked down his anger; it was undoubtedly true that these Telmarines did know the physical life of Elephants more than he possibly could—they would know how much work could be crushed out of a Beast on how little rations. They knew so much, he thought bitterly, while refusing to see what was before their eyes.

"One of them'll feed him all right," Nem was continuing, "even if it's not his mother. The milk comes in if there's a baby one that needs it."

"One here will _adopt_ this Calf? Will care for it as if it were her own, using her own body to shelter and feed a stranger? Can you still imagine they don't _think?_ They don't _feel?_ "

They did not respond, and Edmund looked down, and saw a dawning brightness in the Calf's eyes as he looked towards the chained team of work-Elephants; there was a faint, wavering, hopeful _nhaaarrh?_ For now, then...

"Aslan go with you, little Cousin," he said, and gave the Calf an encouraging pat. With a cry of joy the little one blundered forward and cannoned into the legs of a tall Elephant, who reached down her trunk and used it half to cuddle and half to usher the Calf away under her, as if for safe-keeping.

"See? All safe and happy now, King, like the big ones!" said Reznar cheerily.

"You mistake, Reznar," he flashed back. "Captivity is neither safe nor happy, and I am here to deliver every Narnian from it."

"These are not Narnians!" broke from Nem.

The King did not reply to that. Whatever the future might be for Nem—and he seemed to be one whose influence was rising within this small group of Telmarines at least—he was not at present able to speak on Telmar's behalf.

"Understand me, for I speak most seriously here, as Narnia's King to Telmar. I will not leave any Narnian in captivity here, least of all this Calf who has spoken before you all. I have allowed him to join these not as a captive, but for his comfort and nourishing, that he may be fed, since you have hunted and stolen one so young, milk-young..."

He stopped; this was not going to be easy, to make these people understand the depths of the wrong they were doing; perhaps if he helped them first to feel and then to understand?

"Reznar... Mavram... When you first welcomed me into your house I saw there, as you promised me once, Reznar, the glories of Telmar; you are a great people, and have done great things. But even more than that, I saw how strong is the love between you all, spreading out from family to friends and to care for followers.

"It is a glory, but can you not see how shameful is the blot on Telmar, that you have built your greatness by making slaves of Free Beasts, and even more that you have torn apart families to do so, taking mere _babies_ amongst your captives?"

Mavram was the one who answered. She seemed puzzled, but spoke readily enough, as if to explain a self-evident truth.

"But... King! If we tried to hunt the grown ones, our men would die, perhaps. And elephants will not breed in captivity."

_No. No. Of course they would not._ The king felt as a heaviness inside him the weight of despair which must have driven this deep refusal of the captives. _Of course they would not! The only path of resistance left to them, to refuse the giving of life, to refuse to suffer their children to enter life in slavery._

_But then..._ the logical consequence of Mavram's words broke over him.

"Are you saying that _all_ of these were captured at this young age?" he demanded.

"Of course."

Which explained so much. If they were all captured at this age, before they had learned language... not even their own language yet, the one the Elephants spoke among themselves, let alone the language used by Humans, beyond the one word to call for the Nhaarhh, then—then, the King realised the terms of his agreement with Hoom and these others would be much, much harder than he had imagined.

****

**o-o-o-o-o**

"If they had the strength, though, why didn't they just snap the chain ages ago?"

"You must know that better than I, Daughter of Eve."

Lucy looked questioningly, and Kirrina, her eyes on the two Elephants still softly nuzzling and delighting in each other, continued. "Mortals see as they see, and even the warm-blooded see differently from the cold, and even the air-dwellers see differently from those who stay close to earth."

"You mean they didn't see they had the strength?"

"I think they did not even see beyond imprisonment, or know there was more than a chained life."

"What do they know now?" asked Lucy, and answered her own question, "They know about each other, anyway."

"I think they hardly know that even yet. And though their bodies are free, Queen, and they are learning that they are not alone, I think it would be wise to give this Elephant, as you gave the last, to drink of Winterfather's gift."

"But does he need it? They... I think they need each other more than me or the cordial now, don't they?"

The River-god smiled slightly as she answered. "Doubtless they need each other. As mortal and earth-dweller, you must see their minds more than I do. But mortal minds can still have hurts to heal, even if the iron chains are broken, and aloneness is shown to be a lie."

Lucy pondered this for a little, then nodded, took up the her cordial, and set about this new way to offer it to those in need of healing.

Two Elephants snuffled at her hands, this time, but after a brief inspection, the first withdrew, pulled back his great trunk with utmost delicacy, and left only his still-uncertain companion to sniff, and inhale and finally drink. And with the first still standing very close, the two large heads still laid alongside one another, Lucy was bold this time to look up and see the working of the cordial in the eyes of the second Elephant, and to observe how a new light of awareness and strength was added to the passionate eagerness for companionship with his fellow.

"You were right, Kirrina. It does help them. It does, and being together does."

"Then let us press forward, to reach the others, and give them to drink, too, to ease their pain and loose their minds to see, and to bring them to each other."

"Yes, but first I want to... It's good that this one broke his own chain, but I want to get the ring off, too, to get rid of the dangling bit in case he trips on it. And anyway, why should he have to wear a s _lave-ring_?"

"I think he treads warily enough, but it is well thought of. When we have five of them marching with us... yes, you think well, Queen, in care for these."

The two Elephants stood quietly side by side as Lucy filed away the link which held closed the hated ring; when she had done, though, the first freed Elephant nudged at the discarded ring, pushing it sideways across the ground, thoughtfully.

"I wonder what he thinks. Do you think he knows he used to have one?"

"I cannot see what his mind sees. But you have done well, and they are certainly emerging from the cages of the mind as from these chains."

"Well, that's not me, that's Father Christmas. And it was easier this time, because of having two. Do you think it will get easier all the time?"

"Let us hope so! Shall we to the next, oh valiant champion of the Immortal Winterfather?"

Lucy looked doubtfully—Kirrina's laughter was sometimes disconcerting, as if she found Lucy herself funny—but answered straight to the point.

"Yes... and it's _that_ way," she gestured largely to the south-east, "and let's _hurry!_ "

****

**o-o-o-o-o**

Reznar, Mavram and Nem had all gone to prepare some kind of meal, but the King had elected to stay by the chained work-gang for the time, pondering.

Though those three had gone, they had not left him alone; Wily had reappeared. It seemed he had been with the team-Elephants seeing to their provisioning with bundles of grasses, tossed before them, all along the line. And so once again it was Wily who came to sit by him in his perplexity, as they had sat together near the Wall, when the ferry-Elephants and capstan-Elephants had seemed to him so utterly unthinking that he had briefly despaired.

The King was silent for a time, but finally—

"It _is_ a word, you know," he said, without taking his eyes from the Elephants. " _Nhaaarh_. It means the mothers of the Herd."

"No, King. I know you want to believe it, but—no. Look at all these. They made that noise when they were babies, when they were brought in, but they drop it when they settle down here."

_When they despair of finding the Herd, of finding again the Nhaarrh,_ the king thought, but did not say. He would try, as he had with the others, a different way.

"Well, the matter of the speaking is between Telmar and Narnia, not between you and me. But here, between us, Wily, as simply between two men, is it not clear that Elephants _think?_ Did you not say as much to me, back a quarter-moon ago or more?

"They think _like animals_ , I said. They think, but not like us."

"Tell me about them, then. _How_ do they think, if not like us? How do you know there is thought?"

"Oh, they think about their food, about their work. Some of them are easy-going, and some are quick to pick up what we train them to do. They can be _wily_ , some of them"—he winked— "and they know how to nudge off the work they don't want to do, and just pretend they don't know what we want. Or like with this Calf, they can look out for each other, and make the work easy on an old one, or a sick one. I've seen them stand sometimes, two or three of them together in the hot sun to keep shade on one that's finding it tough going... "

"What you are saying," said the King sharply, "is that these are thinking, feeling beings. They have compassion, they have intelligence."

Wily's mouth quirked. "Well, they have till we beat it out of them!"

It was meant as a joke. The king knew that it was meant as a joke, but... there was nothing funny about it. Strange that this likeable, intelligent man should be content to be a part of the brutal treatment of his fellow-creatures. But so were they all—Reznar, Mavram, Nem, Wily—all intelligent likeable people.

The King frowned over the puzzle of it for a short while, but then gave it up.

"I'll turn in now. Tell them that I need no supper; I will break fast with them tomorrow morning."

"You... you're going to sleep here, King? Is it to guard the calf? I was joking - no-one would hurt the little one tonight."

"It is ill to joke about such matters, but I understood that was your intent," he said wearily. "I do not imagine any harm to him tonight, but I choose to sleep here close to them all. Good night to you, Wily."

The Telmarine took his dismissal sombrely, but not in ill-humour, and the King settled himself close to the chained line, pillowing his head on one of the fodder-bundles Wily had left. The day's heat was already leaching from the ground, and he would be cold, he expected, before the morning, but this night he did not want firelight and cheer and camaraderie _—_ not with these warm-hearted people, who were all bound up in this great wrong.

This night, at least, he would rather be here, close to those he had sworn to rescue.

****

**o-o-o-o-o**

He gazed up; between the dark shifting foliage, he saw scattered stars. I must learn to know them, he thought sleepily. Haelwisse would know. The stars... Telmarines worshipped the stars. He must learn to know them, he must talk with those who knew them well... Star-worshippers... all those he had met at Hurrdah's house and in the village... and in undoing the wrong, he would leave them still angry at their exclusion from trade and still caught up in their own wrongs against each other, still... but he must...

_You have done well, Son of Adam._

He sat up abruptly. A voice, and not a voice, more in his mind than in the air. He peered into the dark. _Aslan?_

Silence.

_Aslan, was that you?_ he thought, and then said it aloud. "Aslan, was that you?"

Silence. He lay down again. _I haven't done well,_ he thought into the dark. _They don't understand and I haven't been able to convince them._

_You have done well in the_ trying, said the not-voice. _You have done well to try to convince and not condemn._

_But I do condemn! I condemn the cruelty and the slavery and the injustice. _

The voice-not-a-voice was silent. The trees were moving overhead; the stars appeared and disappeared. He felt abruptly angry at the difficulty of it all, at the darkness and how hard it was to see clearly, or to hear if this was a real voice or just an imagining... _Are you there or not?_

Of course, silence. Part of him knew this made no sense, to rail at maybe-nothingness, but the anger bubbled out of him, unstoppably, all the same.

_You can keep quiet all you like, but I tell you i _t is wrong and I condemn it and I will not rest until it is stopped!__

There was still only silence, but now it felt as if something in it—a warmth? a grass-sweet movement of the air?—drained all the anger from him. He felt strangely unanchored, and sad and very young, as milk-young as the Calf.

_I won't rest, _he said into the night, unsure now if he was thinking or speaking aloud, _I won't rest, but Aslan_ _—if that's you_ _—I don't know how I'm going to get it done._

The warmth swirled about him, and he seemed to hear the voice-not-a-voice again, though fainter now and somehow confused with the soughing of the wind in the trees.

_I will not leave you without help; be open to that help. But for now, dear one, take the gift of rest._

And he felt a soft touch on his cheek, like the touch of a hand...no, not a hand... softer than that... It blew warm sweet breath over him. _Aslan's muzzle_ , he thought hazily. _S _o gentle... __and then, as he slipped into deeper sleep, _he must really like me_.

****

**o-o-o-o-o**

Morning.

He woke to the clatter of chains, as the Elephants shifted and reached for the fodder Wily was bringing. They were much closer than he had thought, or he was closer to them. Maybe he had moved in the night? A vague memory, or a memory of a dream, stirred in his mind, of...was it an Elephant? reaching over and touching him gently with her trunk, in recognition, or maybe in blessing. He tried to catch the memory, the dream, but it dissolved and was gone.

No matter; it was clear cold morning, nearly sunrise, and he felt an inexplicable sense of rightness, of sureness about his task. He hailed Nem cheerily, stood and stretched - and saw without surprise that a sharp-eyed Raven sat in the foliage above the line of captives.

Sallowpad. Good. Sallowpad was of all the younger Ravens the one most known for keen perception and quick thinking. A morning's observation—even a half-morning's observation—would give the Raven knowledge enough to report to Susan on the difficulty here, and perhaps her clear, sharp mind would be able to see a way through.

The Bird shifted a little on the bough, barely half-opening his wings—the merest sketch of a salute, a discretion which was matched by the King's acknowledgement, the slightest possible nod.

And then the message—much the same series of aerobatics, Edmund saw with resignation, as had puzzled him already.

_Beware. Gul. South-East. Meeting. One Man. From the South. Meeting. Beware._

The omission of the word seemed to signal that Gul was no longer _Travelling_ and so had presumably arrived at his meeting-place with the mysterious Southerner. As for the place of this meeting— _close by_ to a Raven could be anything up to a quarter-day's march. Or did he mean _imminent_?

Well... he was still too close to a Telmarine to hope for speech—none of the neighbouring countries should ever be allowed to know that Narnian Birds could speak, Peter had said, a decision endorsed by the General. But it was morning, and a night on the bare ground was surely reason enough for exercise. He sent a swift smile Wily's way, as he passed again on his morning's chores.

"It was a good sleep, but now... I must try to get some air in my lungs," he said, and began the series of twistings and jerks which made his reply to Sallowpad.

_\- Where? Meeting?_

_South-East. Close by. Beware. Danger. Elephants._

So. One more scrap of information though it was even plainer now that the code he had devised was not adequate to the need—was it danger _for_ Elephants or _from_ Elephants?

_What? Danger?_

_Elephants. Man. South. Danger. Narnia. Danger._

_\- What? Danger?_

_Gul. Close by. Meeting. One Man. South. Beware._

_\- What? Beware?_

The Raven circled—once, twice, not as a code, Edmund saw, but in sheer frustration, a frustration which the King understood all too well. Very well, then.

_Understood,_ he signalled, to release the Bird from the endless, fruitless exchange.

Sallowpad flew to the bough again, and ducked his head down and thrust it forward in ungainly, unhappy gesture: _Not_. And again— _Not_.

And the Bird was right, of course. He had _Understood_ the words, this time as every other time, but no, he had _Not Understood_ what was meant by them.

_Not,_ the King conceded, in final, rueful acceptance. _Not understood._

Above him, Sallowpad cawed once—but there was no code for that? He'd assigned no meaning to a single such call from a Bird in flight—and wheeled away, back to the East.

****

**o-o-o-o-o**

It was easier each time. By the meeting with the fourth Elephant, it had almost become a ritual—first the thunderous, tender ecstasy of the Elephants' meeting, then the drinking of the cordial from the Queen's cupped hands, when those who had drunk before would gather close, encouraging the newly-met by warm, wordless touch, then a time of taking breath, to let newness gradually yield to acceptance, to let the world-changing strangeness become familiar, and then Lucy would kneel and use the Dwarfs' gift, the diamond file, to take away the last outward sign of the terrible inwards imprisoning.

The last part, the unshackling, was, indeed, more difficult from time to time, with so many great feet trampling about, though they trampled in joy, not in anger, but the Queen went more and more confidently in among the great Beasts.

"Do you not fear death now, Queen?" Kirrina had asked, with the old hidden ripple of laughter in her voice.

"I've got a _lot_ better at this since the first time!" Lucy retorted, and bent to her work.

The second day, too, Crimtwing and Pryclaw flew in, to tell her that Queen Susan had commanded that Queen Lucy should have a Raven escort for her journey to find the Herd in the North.

"There will always be one us with you," Crimtwing said. "One here, and always one going back to Cair Paravel, and one setting out."

"A relay," said Lucy. "But who will take messages for Edmund? It's lovely to have you, of course, and I'm glad that Susan won't be worried, but..."

"No worries for that, Majesty! Old Diamond has set herself in station between the King and you. Her Majesty your sister said she wasn't to come with us to the North, but she is keeping an eye on us all from a distance."

"You are all _so_ lovely," Lucy said contentedly.

****

**o-o-o-o-o**

It was well after Sallowpad's abrupt departure that he saw the other three approaching. Good.

Wily, when distracted with his duties about the team-Elephants, posed no danger, though the messages were received and sent just a few paces from where he was at work, but Mavram had grown too sharply observant of late, Edmund thought. It was as well that she had not been by earlier.

And now... they were carrying his breakfast to him, he saw, and were all three smiling benevolently, if somewhat patronisingly, as they drew near. The smiles _—_ he glanced from one to another, and saw written plain on their faces that they expected him to be discouraged this morning, or even to have conceded failure overnight, and that they were therefore poised _—_ so kindly! _—_ to offer him well-meant warm-hearted sympathy and consolation.

He found himself smiling back, broadly, in pure amusement at the needlessness of their comforting. For whatever reason, he felt brimful of renewed strength this morning, and even of a zest for the task such as he had not felt since his high-spirited departure from Cair Paravel, so many days ago. He settled down eagerly to the breakfast they brought, savouring every mouthful.

"Your hospitality is as gracious as your mother's, Mavram. And Nem, if you cooked this, never say that Telmar has not wherewith to trade with Narnia!"

He swallowed another mouthful, and then eyed them quizzically.

"But if you offer these dainties as _consolation_ , good friends, rest easy... I am as sure today as I was yesterday that you _will_ see that these Narnians speak, and that I will see them freed."

They exchanged glances, and as usual it was Mavram who replied.

"You are a stubborn man, King, and worthy of a better mission. We like you well, and gladly have you as our guest, but plain fact is plain fact, and we will not and cannot believe that an animal can speak."

He shrugged, still smiling; he did not know _how_ he would succeed, but he knew he would not give up until his Cousins were freed and that therefore—he smiled for the pleasure of clear logic— _therefore_ their freedom was certain.

"We shall see! But to speak of things more immediate, thank you for this breakfast! And now let us..."

His voice wavered. A second Raven in one morning? With an effort he turned away, lightly, appearing not to see the black shape speeding towards them, and continued to speak.

"Let us see how my Cousin does this morning!"

But though he was able to keep his voice untroubled, he was uneasy. The Raven—Diamond?—was coming too close, her flight directed all too openly straight towards him.

"Come... Wily, I think you must know where he..."

"King?"

He had been too hurried in his attempt to usher them away. Mavram was looking curiously at him, as if wondering why...

The flapping and beating of broad pinions was right above them now, and all four of the Telmarines were looking up, their attention caught, irrevocably. _Diamond!_ he cried, silently, _leave us! Seem like a dumb bird_ , _don't let them see_ —

Narnia's Head Raven glided down with grave deliberate mien, to land directly before him. She looked full at him, unreadably, for one long instant, then spread her wings wide in stately salute, and in harsh, grating voice cried aloud: "Hail, King!"

****

**o-o-o-o-o**

****

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... Diamond's blown the gaff! :) But those of you familiar with Sallowpad's later career must have guessed they weren't going to keep that particular secret forever!
> 
> The part about elephants being able to lactate to feed orphaned or abandoned babies is based on recorded observation, though the only case I have read about involved a grandmother-child pair, i.e. genetically and socially related. _Silent Thunder: the hidden voice of Elephants_ , Katy Payne, Chapter 1. This book also records elephants standing in hot sun to shade another elephant in need.


	16. As birds fly true

"Hail, King!"

Nem, Mavram, Wily, Reznar—the King registered through his shock that they, too, were utterly astonished, struck dumb as the phrase was, by the revelation that the Raven was anything but that. But if they were silent from astonishment, for him it was near-devastation that one so much trusted...

"Up, King! You must away! An enemy plots..."

"The bird... this is how you spy..." It was Nem who exclaimed, but Mavram's face, too, was alight with quick apprehension and indignation.

"You spied..." she was beginning; Diamond cut across her, with swift and savage words, thrown like well-aimed darts.

"Plots not against the King alone, Telmarine! You also are betrayed! Your house and these Narnians are all alike betrayed, and the plot is close now to the springing."

Edmund found his voice.

"Diamond, you know this? Where? What is the plot? I will not leave with these Narnians still in captivity."

"As birds fly true!" she snapped, bewilderingly. "Up, and be about it! These enemies meet for your ill, and great harm to Narnians and these Telmarines alike! "

"What enemies?" Nem demanded. "You lie! And the elephants... these are Telmarine elephants and they stay!"

"Be easy for that, Nem! A man and a bird—even one that speaks—can hardly break the chains." Mavram had choked down the anger which had been beginning to blaze in her; her voice was tight and seeming-calm. "This is mere lying foolery, to try to make us think our elephants can talk like this trained chatterer! Foolery and deceit, as Gul has always said, Easterner!"

"Gul!" Diamond's eyes glittered. "You prattle the words of that same one who plots death for your house, Telmarine! Call me liar as you will—your loss is yours to mourn, not mine. I am here for Narnia, not Telmar!"

She turned her head, as it seemed, contemptuously; Edmund had not a doubt that she was deliberately needling, manipulating Mavram for her own ends.

"King—leave these Telmarines to their doom. Your task is before you—to save these you have found, and yourself."

He floundered, briefly, uncertain. Diamond, who had stayed true through all the hundred years of Winter, but who was here openly disobedient, manipulative, refractory...

But true. He believed she was true. And she had said something like that, about birds being true—and there was no time now to second-guess. She was true. He threw aside his doubts and focussed on the need of the moment, asking her urgently, "What of the chains?"

"Fear nothing, King. The Queen your sister has shown plainly that the Elephants can break their chains if their minds are freed enough to know their strength."

"How do we..." he was beginning, but Mavram broke in; the spark of anger had become a fury.

"These elephants are to my house, nor will I...my brother—nor will my brother allow any to steal our work-beasts. But speak! what death is compassed, Bird? What proof do you offer of such plotting?"

"The death of one dear to you, and compassed by your own man, who sits and plots now with Calormen. If you could fly as I fly, Telmarine, you could hear them where they sit not five hundred man-paces from here in your forest."

"They sit on the forest floor?" Mavram snapped, and did not wait for the answer; she sprang to catch at the branch above, and then was standing on it.

"Lead, Bird, and in silence!" then, looking down, imperiously, "Nem! Reznar! Stay here and keep silent about this. Let none near the elephants—not Telmarine, not Narnia—tell none what we have heard! King, you touch these beasts on pain of death! Wily, come."

"I am not yours to command, Mavram," Edmund said.

But the rest were, he noted, as he swung himself up. However much she might try to give the leadership to her brother, in conformity to Telmarine ways, when it came to urgent need, she was the leader here. Hurrdah's daughter, Rittar's daughter—he had some sense now of the power which those two must have wielded when they were both alive. The strength and decision which had surely come from them, which had been latent in her, was now in full play.

He was beside her now; she looked a fierce rejection to the King, but before she could speak, there came a soft, amused interjection from below.

"Don't misprize that one, Mistress. Mudsmoke moves quietly enough when he will."

It seemed she trusted Nem's assessment. She wasted no more words, threw one dark, hostile look to Edmund, and...

"Show me!" she said to Diamond, and then was gone.

o-o-o-o-o

"Hah!" Lucy gasped with the effort, the triumphant effort, of wrenching open the last iron ring. The foot it had gripped lifted ponderously, and then set down again. The Queen reached out and caressed the bristly hide.

"Go free, Cousin. Go where you will."

The Elephant moved away, oblivious.

"Go where he will, Queen?" Kirrina probed, her eyes dark with meaning.

"He is free! But yes, we must take them all now, to find the Herd, and then to Narnia." She looked up at her friend, and then stood, dusting her knees, thoughtfully. "I am so glad to have been able to be the one...it is the best thing that has ever happened to me, Kirrina, to be the one who was able to take off their chains."

"You have done well."

"And it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, to see them gradually coming back to themselves."

"To find themselves. To become who they are."

"To become Narnians again!" The Queen shook off her thoughtfulness, and snatched up the cast-off shackle. "And these... the last one! I ...I want to absolutely chuck it right over the Cliff, Kirrina!"

Kirrina's face suddenly sparkled with mischievous glee, but she was silent; the previous night's attendant Raven hopped and flapped, distressfully.

"Ahrrkk!... Majesty... Narnia lies below!"

The Queen shot a laughing look to the River-god, but spoke soberly to the agitated Bird.

"Thank you, Quick-in-all. I was not speaking to express a real intention, but because I feel such anger at these things, which have held these Narnians in slavery."

"Ahhrrh... thank you, Majesty. I learn."

"Learn...?"

"To pry apart words and meaning, Majesty. Ravens live long, and I am young yet, but I will learn this skill."

Lucy eyed the Bird keenly, remembering Diamond's well-meant, but unwelcome, interference with Susan's message.

"It is a fine skill, but your task is to relay words, not guess intent."

Quick-in-all spread her wings wide, deferentially. "I shall do so, Majesty. I am not yet grown wise to peck out the meaning from the words."

Not yet grown wise. The Ravens were swift and sharply intelligent Birds, but it was an intelligence, Lucy noted, which apparently grew restless at the over-simplicity of the task they had now. She stored the thought away for future consideration.

"Well, you have no need to try to pick out the meaning in my words today, Quick-in-all. The message I'm sending today is very plain and very gladly sent. You will say to my sister this: Royal Sister, and beloved of the Lion, Greeting! All of the ferry-Elephants and capstan-Elephants are free!" She flashed a joyous, exultant grin across to Kirrina, and then turned back to the Bird. "We now begin our march to find the Herd, confident that we, as you, and as my brothers, live always between his paws. Have you that message clear, Cousin?"

"Royal Sister, and beloved of the Lion," repeated the Raven, and finished the message faultlessly.

The Queen smiled. "Good. And now, since Brightbeak has arrived to be our day's companion, be away with that message to Cair Paravel! We love you well!"

o-o-o-o-o

She moved from tree to tree more more nimbly and silently than he would have thought possible in any Human. Truly, she was a mistress of the plant-knowledge that Telmarine women claimed as their own. She knew, it seemed, how the leaves of each tree hung, how to slip through without a betraying rustle, how to climb high on one tree, and then drop with only the breath of a wind onto the lower bough of the next tree. But Wily, too, could climb—his clowning at the Wall had covered skills of no small order, the King assessed, if not the almost Dryad-like ease of his leader.

Edmund himself followed more slowly, keeping them in sight, as far behind them as Diamond flitted before, until he came to where they were stopped, noiseless and near-imperceptible in the flickering green shade. He steadied himself, half-lying against a sturdy bough, and looked as they were looking, to a little group of figures below.

Four figures, as best he could see. Gul was one, squatting below, and standing to one side was a tall, powerfully-built Calormene—it was no-one he had seen before, the King was sure; his dress and stance suggested that he was a man-at-arms or a servant. But then, whose? A second man-at arms he could just make out through the thick foliage, but—Gul's tones floated up to him, and he closed his eyes, the better to listen to what was being said.

"... they do not breed in captivity, Tarkaan."

"That is our concern," a familiar voice replied, with placid condescension. "If you do not know how to manage beasts, we do."

Gul shrugged. "Do as you will. One calf a year is no concern to me, so that my brother and I have free trade for our ivory, and that we are rid of Rittar's swaggering breed."

"It is a small tribute, indeed, with great gain to you, forest-man. I have known great tarkaans and merchants who would have gladly given all their wealth to gain the goodwill of the Tisroc, may he live forever, even," the voice hummed with a reminiscent, sardonic amusement, "for one short day."

"I know nothing of your Tisroc." Gul replied shortly, and then, in a surly undertone, so low that Edmund hardly caught the words, "Only the stars live forever."

A silence fell. Edmund opened his eyes, and risked a quick glance down. Yes, Gul and Neerzat, and two... guards, he supposed. He felt curiously unsurprised by the discovery of Gul's treachery and equally so to find Neerzat attempting to manoeuvre Telmar into, in some sense, acknowledging Calormene overlordship. But for Mavram—he wondered how far she knew what tribute would mean, and wondered more how she understood that reference to Rittar's swaggering breed.

He turned his head, cautiously, and looked across to her. She looked neither shocked by betrayal nor eager for retaliation, but only very intensely focussed. He understood; this was not a time for unthinking anger, but for gathering information. What exactly was planned, and to what end? But now Neerzat had stood up, and had begun to stride about impatiently.

"Your brother is slow on the road. Can you not be the one to bid this Narnian and your unwanted stripling to private conference? He is not needed for what follows."

Gul grunted. " My brother will be here by afternoon. I have said, it cannot be before then, so that the girl and the others will be taking their rest after eating—he must be with them then, to be seen to have no part in what happens." He lifted his head, to look across to the Calormene; his voice became peremptory. "It must be quick and silent."

Neerzat's voice was sharp in return. "Our part is certain! Let you worry about your own part, beastmaster!"

There seemed to be a moment of near-hostility between the two, but then Neerzat, laughed, a brief, hard laugh, and fell back into his more calculated diplomat's approach.

"Have no doubts, forest-man. It will be quick, and silent. These I have brought to do your wish are like your elephants, dumb—and deaf also. They know their job, to leap and hold and smother to the death. One hand of each will crush down, inexorable, against mouth and nose, and then... ah! the ancient riddle, forest-man! What is that which a man holds lighter than a feather, but feels its loss, as heavy as the grave?" He paused, apparently for an answer, but receiving none, continued abruptly, "That being accomplished, if you can prick the beasts to a fury..."

"There is no if..."growled Gul, but added, as if to himself, "It will be well, even if one or two more die before they are subdued again."

"Small rivulets fall of themselves to swell the greater river; so lesser men must die to secure the power of the greater," quoted Neerzat. "This is plain to all men, and moreover is written in the second Wisdom of Garaht Tarkaan to his sons."

Gul did not respond; they were ill-assorted allies, Edmund thought, though oddly alike in that both were acting now to gain power for another—Neerzat for the Tisroc and Gul to secure the leadership for his younger brother, Hoom. But how long would it be before their differences tore apart the alliance?

It seemed that Neerzat, too, was feeling something of the tension between them, because his next words seemed designed to soothe the Telmarine, and lure him a little further into complicity.

"And that you will gain thereby the free right to trade your ivory is certain, and your brother can take that back with him to his great meeting. The Narnians will relinquish all claim to the beasts when they see how crushed and broken is their princeling from the trampling—and since one of your own will lie dead alongside, how could they suspect any wrong done? A plain accident, come by the folly of a boy who took wild beasts for thinking beings!"

"The elephants are our own," Gul said, doggedly. "We deal with them as we will."

"Without doubt." Neerzat rejoined smoothly. "And you have dealt well thus far, to keep them without language. Do none other of your people know, as you do, that they could speak, if they were left to grow among their own?"

Gul... It was if the air around him had turned to clear sharp ice; the King felt his hands grip the bark so tightly that it hurt. Gul knew.

Gul knew, and now—he did not dare to look again—now Mavram knew that Gul knew.

"The old who have hunted, but there are few of us left now. I have deemed it good to be silent."

"Your brother?"

Gul moved impatiently. "We do not speak of such a thing between ourselves. It is better not spoken and not known."

"And this stripling Reznar?"

"He has never seen. How should he know?"

"But he must be crushed?" Neerzat asked, with mild interest.

"While he lives, his family will believe we only hold the leadership on sufferance," Gul jerked out, "and they would claim the elephants..."

"Ah... yes...the elephants." There was amusement in Neerzat's voice. "They will be all your own, forest-man, save only the small matter of annual tribute for Tashbaan."

o-o-o-o-o

"So it is to the north now, Queen?" Kirrina asked.

"Yes." Lucy's eyes were following Quick-in-all as she winged eastward to Cair Paravel.

Beside her, Brightbeak ruffled his feathers uneasily; Lucy sent a quick silent smile of reassurance to him, and he ducked his head in return, as if half-ashamed that he had not yet learned to overcome the discomfort of hearing his Queen speaking to what seemed empty air.

"And with what speed we may, I think," Kirrina was saying, "so that we may be gone before the Telmarines return from their conferring and look to use again their ferries and their lifting-wheels. The moon has moved seven days from the full, time enough for the Telmarines to have gone their journey and be back."

"I know... that is, I don't know how long they might be meeting for. I suppose it depends on what happens there. But I know we have to go north, because that's where Edmund found the Herd."

"Then...?"

"I know that's what we have to do; I'm not sure how to do it. I don't know if I can get them to come. When they were only half-awake, sort-of, they just followed, but they are getting stronger all the time."

"Their minds are uncaged, yes, and the hurts are healing, and they grow stronger. It were best that they not linger here too long."

"But it's not like the other Narnians. The other ones would all do what I asked them to, because of Aslan. They know about him making it so it all fits, Queens and Dwarfs and Hounds and Ravens and... everyone. But these ones don't know, and I don't know how to tell them; they don't know how we fit together."

"Nor have they learned how to deal well among themselves, Queen, since they have not seen and learned from the Herd. So for all reasons, let us begin our journey—or at the least begin to prepare for it." She looked up, appraisingly, to where round, russet-coloured fruits hung among the leaves on a branch above. "For my part, by finding you your sustenance."

Lucy turned, uncertainly, and looked at the Elephants. "I can only try, I suppose. But I don't even know their names! Still..."

Leaving Kirrina to her fruit-gathering, she moved closer to the restless mass of five jostling, interweaving Elephants, took a deep breath, and began.

"Elephants! Cousins! We must now move to find your Herd, and then all together work to find a way..."

Not one of them looked at her, or seemed to hear. All their attention was for each other, or for the new-found freedom to move their bodies, to touch and press and push up against another like themselves. They were beginning to test their strength one against another, she saw, with hesitant, questioning head-buttings; the soft and loving intertwining of trunks was becoming something stronger, was shifting to become exploratory playful tussling and tugging, and there was no attention to spare for the small figure who wanted so much to be heard.

Her voice wavered and stopped. She had no right to expect them to set aside their pleasurable discoveries, but... but she felt curiously blank, and obscurely let down, to be so ignored by those she had called Narnians.

She turned back to Kirrina; she tried hard to speak straightforwardly, reporting fact, but despite her best efforts, a doleful note crept into her voice.

"They're not listening to me."

Instantly, Brightbeak burst into the air in a shining black flurry of indignation, flapping and crying aloud: "Shame! I call shame to them! Narnia's Queen! and they dare..."

He had wheeled away before Lucy could stop him, flying around and around above the Elephants, calling again, harshly, "Shame on you, new-found Cousins! This is your Queen who has travelled far and worked long and valiantly to win for you your freedom... shame!"

The Elephants certainly heard this; they were all five looking up at the Raven, but not with shame. If anything, their faces showed a remote but decided dislike; there was a shuffling and a tossing of heads, as if they were all alike thinking to move away.

"Oh, peace, Brightbeak," Lucy exclaimed in frustration - "We don't need your voice complicating things! You're not helping!"

"Nor was your voice of use here, it seems, Queen," said Kirrina, speaking very softly, and more gently than was her wont. "It seems to me that not you, but the Herd, must call to them now."

"The Herd? But they're days away. How can I...?"

"Queen—or I may say, well-beloved—you have done so much; you need not do all!"

Lucy looked at her wordlessly, and Kirrina smiled.

"You need not do all. Think, Queen, how Ravens excel in words and speaking and in thought and flight. The love of your sister has brought to you this raucous supporter, as valiant in his way as you in yours. Might he not...?"

"Oh, yes! Oh, brilliant idea, Kirrina! Yes. Brightbeak, hear me, for I charge you with a mighty task!"

The Raven, who had huddled at her feet, very subdued, after her last rebuke, looked up with so sudden a switch to eager alertness that the Queen almost laughed aloud.

"Brightbeak, listen well! I want you to fly to find the Herd which lies somewhere to the north of here. I charge you with a message to the leaders of that Herd, to say this: that five of their lost children are here with me, freed of their captivity, and will journey to meet them if the Herd can call as they know how, the silent call which throbs in the earth, heart to heart. And I charge you to use all your skill of subtlety and word-weaving to move them to this by whatever persuadings and arguments you deem best, for on this depends the outcome of this quest."

"Throbs in the earth, heart to heart," repeated Brightbeak, tense with excitement—and also disquiet. "Your Majesty, the honour of your asking... I so greatly prize that you so honour me! But Majesty, how can I leave you, when Her Majesty your sister spoke so plainly, and Diamond has laid it on us all so strongly, that one of us must always be with you..."

"Oh, Brightbeak! You are all—you Ravens—very lovely in caring for me, and very right to be obedient. But my sister knows that I would not send you from me for any light matter; therefore I know she is with me in this. And moreover, foolish Bird, I am not alone!"

"Ahhh... ahhhh, yess." He looked about, edgily. "Diamond has told us. But... we of the air do not know that kind."

"No, nor do you need to. If you can know an Elephant Herd when you see it, that will be enough!"

"Ha!" Brightbeak's natural jauntiness broke through again. "That much I can promise, Majesty!"

"Then be off with you; fly swiftly and true, and Aslan's blessing go with you!"

And for the second time that morning, the Queen stood and watched as swift wingstrokes bore a Raven from her.

"He will cover many day's journey before sunset, Queen, nor do I think the Nhaarh will be slow to send the call." Kirrina looked calmly and consideringly at her sweet-smelling harvest, and handed over one fruit. "I think this day will not finish before these you have rescued hear it."

"Yes," Lucy took it, and bit determinedly into the rind. "and then—to the North."

o-o-o-o-o

The conference afterwards was quick, urgent and furtive. Mavram was adamant that no other Telmarine should be admitted to the knowledge of what had been heard, or what had been planned.

"We do not know how many men may be coming with Hoom from the North. Nor do we know how many here of our own moiety might be seeing him as their leader now. Our own house has backed his push to power! I myself gave my voice to it, to bring the leadership back from the murdering North."

Her fists were clenched, in furious self-accusation.

"You had reason," said Nem, "and what is done is done. We must think what is to be done now."

Mavram bit at the knuckle of her thumb.

"Hoom will be here this afternoon, before we rest—that was his plan, to loiter with us, as we took rest after eating, and have you, Reznar go with the...king" —she looked quickly to Edmund, and he saw that she had been about to say Easterner—"on the pretence that he would soon after join you both to talk privily of trade and agreement between Telmar and Narnia."

"But we are safe enough now," said Reznar, questioningly. "Neither the king nor I would go to any meeting aside with Hoom—nor with Gul or the Calormene. Thanks to your listening we have avoided the danger, I think?"

"The enmity remains," said Nem, shortly.

"We cannot accuse him here, where he may have many followers, of what we know he has done—we have nothing that would seem like proof, and they have made no actual attempt," Mavram said. "But we cannot let him remain as he is, to plot the destruction of my house, and the theft of..." She glanced at Edmund again; the theft of our elephants, he thought—but she had faltered before she had said it.

"I am glad you see now that something may be true, and known to be true, though it cannot be proved," he said pointedly, and saw that she took his meaning.

"That is another matter. You, too, have been threatened, king, and it is the continuing threat which concerns us now."

"But for him, there is no danger," said Reznar. "He can just return to his own land, and be safe."

Edmund's mouth quirked, but he saw no reason to be more open than need be about the dangers that could face her sovereigns, even inside Narnia; there were more immediate matters to make clear.

"There was not just a threat to me," he said, "but also talk of a tribute of a Calf to be sent annually to the Tisroc of Calormen. Firstly, I believe that this Calf here—whom I have heard to call for his mothers and know to be a Talking Elephant, and therefore under my sworn care—would be the first to be sent, and I will not leave him to be thus sold into slavery.

"Secondly, the Tisroc's man has spoken in my hearing of the strength of Elephants in war. I have no doubt that he plans to build up, even if over twenty years, a force of enslaved fighting Elephants, which is in itself an abhorrent thing—to force the innocent to partake in his wars—and also is a danger to the peace of all those countries neighbouring Calormen, or even farther abroad.

"And lastly, I will not leave these team-Elephants, who are also Narnian though they have been cruelly kept from their own kind, and thus kept from learning language, either their own or mine—or rather, such scanty words of mine as you have allowed them, you despise as mere training. "

They were looking at him again, as they had the day before, as if he had appeared as something unknown, or unexpected.

Nem said, "Full of surprises, Majesty"—but he said it aside, almost inaudibly, to Wily.

The King ignored their by-play; his gaze swept around all his auditors, but he spoke to the one who was their real, if unacknowledged, leader.

"Therefore, Mavram: loose—these—chains."

Her face tightened, and her voice was hard in reply.

"In your own words, I am not yours to command, King Edmund."

"Your brother's life is saved this day, thanks to a Talking Narnian."

"But not an elephant!" she shot back.

"Mavram, these will be free, whether by your agency and with my friendship, or not. You heard how Gul bargained for the friendship of Calormen. I swear to you as King of Narnia, that Narnia will be a greater and a truer friend to Telmar than Calormen could ever be, if you will do this."

"And yet, as the first action of that friendship, you would impoverish my land!"

And so they came to the heart of it, he thought. For it was true: he saw that clearly. In losing the Elephants the Telmarines would lose at one blow their most valuable export and their greatest draught-power. But there was no help for it—the Elephants must be freed, no matter the cost.

"They must be freed, though I know the cost is heavy."

"And all to fall on my people, Narnian!"

She swung away from him, and for the moment he fell silent, to listen to their conferring.

"We know his enmity, and Hoom's, but we cannot accuse him openly here. We cannot live with him, nor have we any grounds or power to compel him to leave."

"Capun," said Nem, decisively. "If Hoom has planned to go back to the North after the killing, the meeting is yet unfinished and Capun still lives. We must appeal to Capun."

"Capun is the enemy of our house!" Reznar exclaimed.

"Of the South, including of our house, yes. Nevertheless, he is the only weapon I see against Hoom," said Nem, bluntly.

Mavram shook her head, as if to shake off doubts. "You are both right. And it is too soon, but we have no choice. There is only one answer—Reznar must be accepted by the great meeting as the head of our house, which he is. We must travel to the north. You three must speak forcefully, to show—as Hoom was planning to show—that the South has the strength to lead all Telmar, and to show that of the South, Reznar is most fit to be the successor to Capun. Then, with Capun's support, as his chosen successor, we will have the power to crush Hoom."

Reznar twitched, nervously. "Mavram... I don't feel—Hoom is a better age for a leader. My time's not yet. He's the only one strong enough to get the leadership for the South."

"Hoom would have seen you dead!"

"But he's a better hunter—you all know that. And a better speaker." Reznar himself looked hunted now, almost panic-stricken. "I will fail. If the North sees the South divided between Hoom and our house, Capun's house will take it all again... It must be the South, and Hoom is our strongest man."

"Yes, it must be the South, but not Hoom," said Mavram. "You can be strong, Reznar! We will put it all to the great meeting, the wrong he was planning. And Hoom had thought to claim the King as ally, to win the meeting, but now the King is with us!"

"You have declined my friendship, and Narnia's," Edmund observed. "Why should you imagine that I will be with you?"

Behind the cool words his mind was aflame with thoughts and possibilities. If they left him, could he take to the forest, to work from there, hidden, for the freeing of the Elephants? Hoom had in intent, if not in action, broken the terms of his embassy; their agreement was void. Diamond had said something about his sister having shown a way to break the chains... which sister? and how?

"This is not a question. King Edmund comes with us," said Nem.

There was the briefest of pauses; all three of the other Telmarines looked at Nem.

Edmund, too, looked levelly at him, and spoke in as unconcerned a tone as he could contrive. "How so?"

But already he could see what was the lever they would use. Well might Mavram take Nem as counsellor—his thinking was quick, and unnervingly clever.

"You will come with us, king, because, as you have made plain, you will never leave these team-elephants here present—and they come with us."

Nem's voice was bright with triumph; he exchanged a glance with Mavram, and then turned to her brother. "This will do well for you at the great meeting, Reznar! You will march in powerful fashion, close-friended by an Eastern king, and as well, subdued in chains beside you, your father's own unmatched and mighty elephants!"

To travel with his own Cousins, they being in chains. It was a bitter march they offered him now, these who had been cheerful and comradely travelling-companions so recently. But...

Above and behind the Telmarines, Diamond was sketching a quick, flown message: Herd. North.

Unnecessary counsel. He had himself already thought so far. To take the team-Elephants north would be to accomplish, undisputed, two or even three days of the journey; two or three days closer to the Herd. It was a gain. And on the journey, might he find the way to convince Mavram? Wily was already not so far from the truth, and surely part of her anger and obduracy now came from her fear for her brother? Or if he could not convince her, could he not find out from Diamond what was this unknown way to break the chains? And—in any case, as Nem so clearly knew, he had no choice.

"Very well then," he said. "We march together, to your northern village, and to meet your Capun."

o-o-o-o-o

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. I am indebted to rthstewart for many things (one more of which will be apparent in the next chapter!) but amongst them for her alerting me to some very moving videos, available on Youtube and elsewhere, one showing the meeting of two elephants after twenty years' separation; it also records the words and the heartfelt emotion of the long-term keeper of one, as he takes off the chains from his charge for the very last time, and other showing an elephant meeting another elephant for the first time in thirty years. Both easily found by searching using the terms "elephants", "reunite" and either "twenty years" or "thirty years" - worth watching, I promise!


	17. The just man justices

The call came as the declining sun began to slip down among the topmost branches of the western forest. Noiseless, deep, earth-shaking... a summoning not understood, but unmistakeable in its urgency and power.

Lucy put out a hand to steady herself, stunned.

Against that huge silent thunder, Kirrina's voice was thin and clear and near at hand.

"Said I not so, Queen? Brightbeak has flown well."

But she was unable to reply; that other sound-not-sound rolled over her, like an endless ocean crashing.

It felt like an eternity that she was submerged there, in that silence, but when she came back out from it, the sun was no lower against the trees; time, she realised, had hardly moved at all, outside the call.

The Elephants had moved away a little southerly, but she saw them now all stopped, their great heads swung around, all to the north-west, as still as if turned to stone.

"What... what should we do?"

"Wait. Or better, come away to the shelter of the trees. Not even their own Herd-mothers could say how they will do now, I think, and it may be that they will lose what little clarity they have in hearing that... Ah! They begin!"

And true it was that the former ferry-slaves and capstan-turners had begun to move again, very hesitantly. One of them took a single pace forward, and then stopped. Another, swaying where he stood, lifted one foot, and then put it down again. Uncertainty, puzzlement, seemed to ripple through the whole group, but very gradually the slow, tentative shiftings began to hint at definite movement, definite direction, as one big shoulder brushed up against the next, feet moved more certainly, step after step, another, and another—away from the Wall and the east and the south, and back towards where the two stood looking. Reluctantly, her eyes still fixed on the Elephants, Lucy allowed herself to be towed in amongst the low trees which were the first beginnings of the forest-belt.

"It would have been better if the Herd had come to us," she said, "because we'll just have to go back over all this ground again to get to Narnia. I should have told Brightbeak that."

Kirrina did not answer.

"They're going to go right past; I suppose we should just follow them? I mean, I have to talk to the Herd. Though Edmund already has, but... oh. I suppose we'll have to wait until he comes with the other ones."

"It is your choice, Queen. Choose your path, and I will go with you, as long as may be. But if you will follow, then let us begin now, for Queen though you are, and valiant, yet over many hours, and maybe days, they will outpace you, especially as we begin through forest by night."

"Yes, I suppose so. But anyway, we shouldn't have any trouble seeing which way they've gone with this moon," said Lucy, watching the Elephants intently. They were now not far away, and beginning to walk more purposefully; as they passed small tufts of grass were crushed underfoot, and low branches snapped.

"No, and they will show us not just the way, but maybe food to ease your hungering tomorrow," Kirrina said, "Even if they have gone beyond our sight, we will see where they leave behind husks and rinds and fragments of their feeding. But still... you may grow hungry and weary on this quest, O Queen! This is perhaps the time to heed old Diamond's counsel."

Lucy's eyes snapped to her friend, and she opened her mouth to reply indignantly—but the dark eyes were glinting with mischief, and Kirrina's old teasing smile was curling at the corners of her mouth.

"If I do so, I shall call on my friend to find me fruits, and then to carry me back through the dry rocks and along her dark river," she replied, composedly, but with a spice of mischief in her own eyes. "I shall call on her by _name._ "

"Ohhh," exclaimed Kirrina jubilantly, pretending awe. "See, great Beasts, the power of your Queen! the _mighty Queen of Narnia!_ She knows the name of the River and will use that name to command—or _would_ ," and she narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion, " _if she knew the whole of it!_ "

"Which I do not!" Lucy conceded. "I'll just have to trust you. But there's the last one has passed now, so we'll go!"

"Take my hand, Queen," said Kirrina affectionately. "And I will teach you more of that name."

Lucy gladly took the hand that was offered, and together they began to follow the five freed Elephants.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Tumultuous thoughts surged through his mind as they began the trek to the north. It was only too clear to him that his designs in the journey must end, sooner or later in a clash with the designs of his travelling-companions. If they thought that the threat to his life could drive him to make alliance with them against Hoom, and to barter away the lives or the freedom of his Cousins in the process... He shook his head at the absurdity.

There was a flapping about his head, and he looked up to see Diamond hovering above him. He grinned and patted his shoulder.

"Or would you rather on my head, Head Raven?" he asked. This Raven, even more than the others, he had found, enjoyed playing with words, pulling and teasing at them, as a game to amuse herself, even when no others were by.

"Head I may be, but head beheaded would be ill to fly, " she snapped back at him, amiably. "I hazard that my claws on your unguarded capital would prove capital offence!"

"I must find stout felt for a cap to cap my capital," he said, easily. "But until then..." and he patted his shoulder again.

She settled down, not without more flapping to find her balance, for his shoulders were not broad.

He knew without telling that she, as much as he, was aware that Mavram and Reznar, walking not far away, were listening to the exchange, in part because they were both still coming to terms with a Talking Bird, but also because they wanted to know what information she brought. Therefore, he offered them a harmless scrap which they must already know, to take the edge off their appetite to know.

"How many day's march will it be, Diamond, until we reach this village, do you think?"

"There is not much difference between an Elephant's pace and a Human's, Majesty," she said. "Three days, I estimate."

"And who awaits us there? Hoom? Capun?" This much, too, he felt easy sharing with Mavram and her brother. It was not his intent to stand between them and whatever justice they sought in the north.

"One called Capun, and many more. But Hoom moves now to where he thinks to find you at the timber-camp. He passed to the east of this road, alone, to meet the Calormene and his brother, and now they think to spring their plot."

"But the prey is gone!" Reznar broke in, triumphantly.

Edmund nodded. "Yes, but it will be only a matter of minutes now before, I guess, they will be in pursuit of us. We left the timber-camp quietly enough, but the absence of the Elephants will tell the tale of our going."

"So what do we do?" Reznar asked.

His sister flushed. "It is plain enough, Reznar! We are in no danger on the road, since their plan was to attack us by stealth, not with numbers. There would be no point in their hurrying to overtake us, though they follow close. Therefore, I judge we will meet them in the north, and if the stars are with us, we will have already put our case to the meeting."

"You said you would help me with the speaking," Reznar said, miserably.

Her flush deepened. "Come away. Nem will help us both."

Help her to drill some sort of speech into her brother's memory, Edmund surmised; their absence would at least make it easier to speak more freely with Diamond.

"You said about my sister... and Elephants? What did you mean?" he asked.

She told him, with Ravenish concision, and in her own dry manner. Dry, concise, impersonal—but as he listened the confidence and exultation which had been with him ever since waking that morning began to chill and ebb.

"She did ... all that? _Lucy?_ "

"The _Queen_ Lucy, Majesty," said Diamond, with something of an alert reproof in her voice.

The Queen. He swallowed hard, to try to dispel the sickish feeling of fear—and that this was all his fault. She had left Narnia to save those he had abandoned.

"To those ones. She saw. She went... because I didn't see and I left them behind."

Diamond stretched out one wing, curving around the back of his head, in a rare display of affection.

"Nor did I see, Majesty. You are not alone in this."

He was silent, and she shifted the wing a little, dug her claws in more strongly, so that he could feel just the tips of them, through the strong felt of his jerkin.

"Hear me, Majesty. My life has been long, but it is yet too short to waste in bemoaning that I am not other than I am. Your sister is no nestling,"—she gave a short, harsh crack of laughter, for no reason that he could see—"She is no nestling, but begins now to use the great gifts she is given, and to be what she is. As do you, working here to win justice for these, with no gift but your own sharp mind and unresting spirit."

 _Unresting..._ the word stirred some vague memory, and prodded by that he said, "Thank you, Diamond. I'll be glad of your help as well as your counsel. Where is the Herd now?"

"They move to meet the newly-free—south and east, as Crimtwing reported from Brightbeak. They will meet perhaps tomorrow, by her eye."

"And my sister?"

"She goes behind. The newly-free have left her, but we are always with her, save once when she bade Brightbeak be her voice to the Herd. And there is that other."

"Kirrina," he said, wondering what part that strange water-being had played in all this deed. In the breaking of the chains, perhaps? The stirring of the Elephants to storm free...

Diamond jerked her head uncomfortably, and clattered her beak a little.

"She is... we do not know that sort. I cannot tell of her, Majesty."

He nodded, thoughtfully. "Then let me ask you something closer to your own gifts, Diamond. Can you travel to the Herd for me? And tell them where we will be in three days' time, and what I will need from them."

The Bird bent her head closer, the better to hear his commands.

**o-o-o-o-o**

His first thought was that this northern village was far more populous that the southern one; there seemed to be crowds gathered wherever he looked—but then this crowd might also contain, Edmund remembered, the Southerner men who had already left to come north for the great meeting. Even so, the impression remained of crowds pressing thickly on either side, watching. He could not tell if the crowds were subtly ushering the newcomers in a direction or if people were simply falling back as the Elephants advanced, and by their falling back made a sort of roadway for the entry, which in turn transformed those in the village into a sort of audience for a procession. And he could not tell which, if any, of those who watched as they entered were Southerners; there was no difference in face or dress that he could see. But many people watched, many more than he had seen in the south, and all with a faintly hostile air—Northern hostility, or Hoom's?

The village itself, the buildings, were noticeably different. Very few houses were built even half as high as Hurrdah's had been, and there was much less decoration, though the same general forms and materials were present; there was none of the grandeur of the South. The people all looked well enough, Southern or Northern, but such iron as he saw in men's hands was old iron, not new, nor new-forged, and the place had an air of former, not current, prosperity.

And now it was clear that the roadway did have an end, that they were being directed to that end. They were approaching a more substantial house, and before it one more thing which marked a difference between North and South—three men sat before the house, on _chairs_ , chairs which like the thrones at Cair Paravel spoke of the authority and power of those who sat in them. In the south he had not seen anyone seated away from the ground. Here, there were three men sitting so, and he did not doubt that of those, the one in the tall central chair, was Capun.

The high back of that chair was carved, in carvings recognisably of the same culture as those which decorated the eaves of Hurrdah's house; rougher and less ornate, but carrying their own sense of strength and conviction. And the man seated there, too, had a sinewy strength about him. His age was hard to guess; older than Hoom and Hurrdah, certainly, perhaps older than Gul. His face was thin, dry and sour, as if he had been through illness, but he had bright colour high on his cheeks, and was, Edmund supposed, recovered now. The two other men—one about midway between Hoom's age and Mavram, one as old as Gul, or older—they were supporters of Capun, certainly, Edmund, decided—and perhaps rival claimants for the leadership? But in any case...

"I think our friends will find this man less ready to relinquish leadership than they imagined," he murmured to Diamond. "Whatever rumours they have heard in the South, he is hale enough now."

"Not hale, Majesty," Diamond whispered harshly. "I have seen this before. Humans—they can die quick—and I have seen too much of that. But they can die slow, too, as a fire dies in the hearth, and so this one is doing."

"Dying at his home hearth, you mean? Not in battle?"

"As a hearth-fire dies, after the long burning. He has the wasting disease, and for those, often, at the last the dying fire will flare up and burn bright. So with this Capun, I judge. He may live months yet, or weeks. But he is dying."

Then the leadership would be in question again, Edmund mused, and if the North was not disposed to easily cede the leadership to the South—or if it did so, but the matter of the attempted assassination of Reznar remained unsettled—this society which claimed to be one would very likely tear itself into two, or three. _Thank Aslan_ , he thought, _that we will be away from here before that tearing begins!_

They had come to a halt before the seated men; the man in the central chair began to speak.

"So the house of Rittar comes trailing after the house of Gul, and both alike on the same errand."

There was visible tension in the quick glances which passed between Reznar and Mavram, but Reznar spoke out well enough, if somewhat truculently.

"Our errand is not yet known, Capun."

"What is seen is known. Hoom has come with many men to speak for his fitness to lead Telmar, though Telmar's leader is not gone into dark. And now comes Rittar's brood, not with men, but with his wealth following after."

Reznar looked anxiously at Mavram and Nem, but Capun did not wait for an answer.

"Great wealth, and now it is come to the north. You walk in high dignity, Southerners." He turned his gaze to Edmund. "And who is this who comes with you? He is not of any house I know."

"This is the King Edmund of Narnia," said Reznar with some relief, as if he felt back on sure ground. "He knows why we have come, and he stands by us in our case."

Capun's face did not change, but Edmund could hear a new wariness in his voice. "Ah! The Eastern King, who will open the trade roads for Hoom, as we hear. Should I bid, welcome, Eastern King? Why have you come here today?"

There was nothing to lose, Edmund thought by speaking boldly.

"The welcome or not is for your decision, Capun. Narnia looks to be in friendship with all our neighbours, including Telmar. I came to Telmar, having heard that free Narnians were here imprisoned into slavery, and that in ancient times they were slaughtered for their ivory. This will be no more. Hoom has misled you; Narnia will not reopen the trade roads for trade in ivory..."

There was a sharp exclamation from someone in the crowd, and then a confused noise of many voices; clearly Hoom had spoken widely about the possibility of the renewal of trade in ivory. Edmund raised his voice to be heard.

"...but we look to good trading with you in what other goods you may supply."

"Words without meaning, Easterner," said Capun scornfully. "Without ivory, there is no trade. But we of Telmar have shown that we do not need that, and that we need nothing from any country outside our own."

From the southernmost edge of the crowd a strong, angry voice echoed, accusingly, " _Nothing!_ "

Hoom. Hoom and Gul and Neerzat, and the two assassins, Edmund saw, now thrusting their way through the gathered Telmarines.

" _Nothing_ is truly what the house of Capun and the rule of the North has given to all of Telmar, for longer than most of us here have lived! Nothing, and so we see Telmar decay! I say, trade brings wealth. And here to stand with me is a man, the Ambassador of great Calormen, where the wealth, as I have seen, is more than any man among us can imagine."

"What is seen is known," said Capun, temporising. "What does this man show us?"

Hoom raised his voice. "I have seen! I have seen and know. See this, Capun, and you will know what we can gain from trade!" He pulled a knife from his belt; light glinted on the shining steel as he passed it to Capun, who examined it minutely. Hoom watched him in silence for a moment, and then continued, pitching his voice to be heard by the crowd as well as by Capun.

" _Calormen_ offers us its wisdom and protection; no matter for Narnia's spite— _Calormen_ will trade in ivory! Bring back the hunt, Capun, name me as Telmar's next leader and we Men of Telmar will see and know the great wealth of our fathers, whether through Narnia's ports, or through the long southern mountain road."

And this, as much as the failed assassination, showed, the King saw now, that Hoom and Calormen—presumably through Neerzat—had been in league, or at least in communication, for some time, from well before the Fair. But after all, Neerzat had introduced himself as _Ambassador of the Tisroc to the Northern Lands_. We should have thought to consider that Narnia and Archenland were not the only _Northern Lands_ , Edmund thought. He stepped forward, and inclined his head, coldly.

"Greetings, Tarkaan Neerzat, Ambassador of the Tisroc to the Northern Lands."

"My greetings, King Edmund of Narnia. I rejoice to see you here in such good health."

 _Hypocrite_ , the King thought. Or maybe just _Ambassador_. It was maybe a sort of counterpart to what Peter had said, back then. An Ambassador has no real friends... perhaps it was just as true that an Ambassador had no real enemies. But this alliance boded no good for Narnia...

"Telmar needs no Eastern port now," Gul growled.

"Though the ports of Narnia are not needed, yet much of value would accrue to that fair land, in being a part of this great trade," Nerzat said smoothly.

 _Not on my life!_ Edmund thought. An alliance, even a trading alliance of Telmar and Calormen would surely end in a pincer movement, especially if the... No, that must not happen. And furthermore... he lifted his head, to be sure his voice carried to the farthest edges of the crowd.

"There _is_ no ivory trade. Not through Narnia, nor in any other way. The hunt, as you call it, is finished."

Mavram flashed him a quick, radiant smile; she seemed to have taken this for support against Hoom. But he was not here to please Mavram, any more than Hoom. He spoke as strongly, and as plainly as he knew how.

"Both the killing and the slavery are finished. I hope with your agreement and your friendship, but with them or without them, the killing and the slavery are finished, _now_."

There was a short, puzzled silence. They understood his words, but they seemed utterly baffled as to how to derive a meaning from them. Hoom was the first to recover.

"Bring back the hunt, Capun, and the South will bring back wealth to Telmar!"

And Mavram flared in reply: "The South already has made wealth; our house has found a better way to deal with beasts than the hunting which kills men."

Hoom ignored her, but her words seemed to jolt Reznar forward with what was surely a prepared speech:

"Capun and Telmarines all! My house has wealth and can make more; our followers are well-provided, and in our hands Telmar will be strong. It is our house which can make wealth for Telmar, if I am named next leader."

"Slowly, Rittar's son," came Capun's voice. "You and Hoom both blunder here." He paused to take breath; it did not seem to come easily to him. "You speak boldly, especially as you are the second to claim today that the South can make wealth for all Telmar. But first or second, you blunder here."

"I am the true leader of my house!" Reznar insisted.

"This may be so, but you speak somewhat too early, on two counts." He smiled maliciously. "You come too early in your life; perhaps when you have come to a man's strength, as Hoom's is at his strength, Telmar will hear what you can do. But more, Southerners, _you come too early in mine_."

His eyes glittered. He banged with the knife Hoom had given him on the arm of his chair, and spoke with a peculiar strained emphasis. "Hear me, Telmar! They lie and make division who would say that I go soon into dark! The leadership of Telmar is _not_ for the taking."

There was a brief, tense silence, then once again, it was Hoom who responded most quickly.

"Then let there be no more talk of leadership today. Let it only be settled to bring back the hunt, and all Telmar will gain knives such as that one,"—He glanced at Capun, who smiled, and tested the blade against one thumb—"and axes, and spears..."

He paused, and his eyes flickered to Edmund; the King understood well that _swords_ would have been the next item on the list, but that diplomacy silenced such a mention—for against whom could they be used, except Telmar's nearest neighbour?

"Capun!" Nem had stepped up beside Reznar. "As was said, our errand is not yet known, and must be spoken now, as Hoom speaks of dealing with these foreigners! He speaks of bringing wealth, but what they bring is not wealth, but great wrong to Telmar!"

"How so?" asked Capun.

Hoom's face showed an angry defiance, Gul's, a grey, grim fear. Neerzat seemed merely bored, though he signalled discreetly, Edmund saw, to bring his two guardsmen up, one on either side of him. Nem had reached one arm back to Mavram; she gripped it as if to encourage him to speak,but he needed no encouragement, the King thought. His face was set and resolute, and he spoke as one who knew he was bringing down great consequence.

"The foreigners, and Hoom, and Gul have plotted division and death within Telmar! They designed between them to kill the leader of our house, and the Narnian king. I claim the payment for this wrong."

**o-o-o-o-o**

Kirrina had been right. The Elephants moved with a slow deliberate step, but still faster than Lucy could manage, trotting alongside. By morning they were already far ahead, and by nightfall of the second day they were not in sight. That night they travelled late, since the moon was not much past the full, but over the remaining days, as she waned towards her half-showing, they travelled in daylight only.

It was a long and peaceful journey following the Elephants' unmistakeable trail; and hearing—or feeling—the sound-not-sound which told of the Herd, moving steadily closer.

On the third day the Queen felt the earth beneath her resound with the multitudinous joy of the reunion of the five with the Nhaarh.

"They've met! I wanted... I would have liked to have seen them meeting," she said, rueful, but half-smiling, to Kirrina.

"They thunder their delight," was all Kirrina said.

"Yes. I know it doesn't matter whether I saw them or not. They're together. Maybe I'll be able to see when Edmund brings the others. And then..."

"And what comes then?"

Lucy looked at her askance. "What do you mean? We go back to Narnia."

"It was a sadness to you that you did not see the meeting of the Nhaarh and the five you freed."

Kirrina did that too often in talking, Lucy thought - slipped sideways in her response.

"I was sad to miss it, but of course they would want to go as quickly as they could."

"They went their own way as Free Beasts."

"Yes! And in Narnia they can be free!"

"Queen..." A slow smile curved the River-God's lips. "How shall they travel to Narnia? Not even one more could travel by the road you came with me."

"I wasn't thinking that!" An answering smile briefly lightened the perplexity on the Queen's face, but she went on, "I'm not a baby! I know it will be hard, but listen! The Telmarines used to go on a road to Calormen, they said, when they came to Cair Paravel. So... Edmund probably has a plan, but if we have to, we can go that way, from Telmar to Calormen, and then from Calormen to Narnia."

"If the Elephants are not safe in Telmar, will they be safe in Calormen?"

"They have to be safe," said Lucy, with fierce determination. "That's why we came, because it's our job to see them safe."

**o-o-o-o-o**

A Telmarine trial, Edmund found, was swift. Only direct evidence was admitted— _what is not seen is not known_ —and his own testimony was asked, along with Mavram's and with Wily's, and—he could not refuse to speak to the truth.

Whatever his doubts that these people, who seemed to nurse resentment almost as identity, could find their way in this matter, any more than in Rittar's death, there could be no justice that was not built on truth-telling, he thought. And the curious fact that the crime of fomenting division within the tenuous Telmarine unity seemed to be held to be as grave a matter as the planned murder—he wondered if that was what had seemed to Capun so long ago to justify the striking down of Rittar , whose _new ways_ had brought division.

But the stakes were clearly very high here. Hoom's face had darkened with rage when the accusation was made; he was swift and adroit in disavowing any connection with the plot, thundering again and again that no-one had seen or heard his involvement, and that nothing could therefore be known against him. Gul had seemed to shrink inside himself, but denied nothing; Neerzat alone had been unmoved, seeming at most faintly amused, and apparently holding himself immutably uninvolved.

The Telmarines thought otherwise. Hoom was deemed free of the charges, for lack of acceptable evidence; Neerzat, his two henchmen, and Gul, though, were all held together liable to pay the penalty demanded.

Death.

"These owe a debt," Capun announced, and the decision was supported—or ratified?—by a shout of acclamation from the crowd. "These owe a debt, and it is paid today. Death!"

There was a surge of movement, as if to seize the doomed, but it was halted in mid-rush by Neerzat's instant cool defiance; he raised his voice, and spoke with calm hauteur, not looking at Edmund, but addressing him.

"It is always so interesting, is it not, King Edmund? to travel among new peoples, and discover their ways, _and their blindness_. But they shall learn to see, in fire and blood, how Tashbaan's fury falls," he paused, and surveyed the crowd, "to destroy _utterly_."

It was Hoom who answered, ranging himself close by Capun's chair, obscuring the younger man who sat at his side. "We will take that chance, foreigner."

Neerzat laughed aloud then, apparently genuinely amused at this quick betrayal by a fellow-conspirator. He said, again speaking to, though not looking at, the King, "Do you join with these, Narnian accuser? I could wish for less ignoble foes here, but not for lesser odds! Join them, barbarian, and let Narnia as well as Telmar write her own doom today!"

Edmund felt a quick pulse of unwilling admiration, for this strange, hypocritical, cruel and courageous man. The man who had designed to kill him; the man who had shown Calormene sword-play with willing skill and vigour at Cair Paravel, who had sneered at Narnia's slender means, and then borne Lucy's muddy retribution with fair grace, who had delivered the Tisroc's insults so deftly, and had of his own will so cleverly stabbed at his sister's joy and confidence in her gifts from Father Christmas...

And who deserved, like all beings, justice—not to be left to Telmarine vengeance. The King stepped into the central space, before the three chairs.

"I have indeed a part to play here, Tarkaan Neerzat—Capun—people of Telmar. Understand—I am not one to stand by, passive, while vengeance is taken in my name; I claim my right to speak here."

He did not give them time to think or answer, not even to allow Capun to accede to his demand, but spoke on, with a passion he had scarcely realised he had in him.

"These people did indeed plot death, but we who were threatened stepped aside, and did not die—how then can it be called a debt which needs death to balance it? And if you speak of division, I tell you that the taking of life unjustly, or any injustice, in itself makes division in a people. I have seen this and you have known it. _Injustice_ is that which leaves a _debt_ , an unbalance, which in itself breeds resentments and revenges and counter-debts which, soon or late or maybe over many years, will divide and bring down a people as surely as any outside enemy."

He looked at Gul, at Mavram, and then burningly, at Capun, whose pinched face told clearly that he understood all that the King had left unsaid.

"I have seen this, as have you all. Then know, if these are killed, not only will Calormen feel the debt, and burn to repay, but here inside Telmar also. There _was_ a wrong, and deaths planned, but let it stop here, not add one more. If Telmar will not allow fomenters of division or planners of death to live inside Telmar, then so be it, but let these be sent to live _outside_ Telmar, the Calormenes to Calormen, and Hoom and Gul where they will. A life of exile is punishment enough for plans miscarried."

It was not perfect, but it was the best he could do, to make some sort of justice here, and to avert the worsening of debts of the sort which Hurrdah had carried so long. If there was no killing...

"So be it," declared Capun, and looked uneasily at Edmund, as if wondering exactly what he knew, and how. "Hoom and Gul and these foreigners will leave us, never to return."

"This pain is not for me!" interjected Hoom hotly. "I am deemed free!"

"You do not go with the elder of your house? You wish to live on in Telmar?" Capun asked.

"I am deemed _free!_ Yes, I stay here—bring back the hunt and I..."

"Yes," said Capun, "the hunt will return. But though it cannot be known that you compassed death, Hoom, yet I have seen and I know that you have wanted division in Telmar. And that must not be. Therefore..."

The sinewy old form darted down, sideways, with unsuspected energy, from the carved chair, and slashed lightning-fast and low, at the rear of Hoom's leg, with the gleaming knife that Hoom had given him.

The meeting exploded into shouts and cries, as blood spurted out, and Hoom crashed to the ground. The younger man who had sat beside Capun throughout the meeting stood and shouted into the confusion: "Silence! There is no reason in this shouting. It is _done_."

Capun had sat back again in his chair. He was white and panting, and he spoke in gasps. "There will be the hunt again, but the house of Gul or of Hoom will never again boast that the hunt gave wealth to the South and made it fitter to lead Telmar than the North."

Edmund had been kneeling at Hoom's side from the instant he fell, one hand clenching with all his strength, holding the edges of the wound together. He called into the hubbub, "This man's wound must be bound, _now_." And then was conscious that of all that crowd it was Neerzat who was kneeling at Hoom's other side, and had produced from somewhere a long white scarf or cloth. Edmund caught at it with his free hand, and began the bandaging; Neerzat reached over and gripped the leg, stopping the flow of blood with slim, skillful hands. Edmund focussed on bandaging it tightly, trying to see only the task at hand, blocking out the whirl of Telmarine confusion, and, as far as he could, his own whirling thoughts. Hoom brought low, Capun so quick and so treacherous, Mavram so fit to lead, but blocked from leading, and this Neerzat—strange, strange man. He was smiling in almost comradely fashion, as if all the past could be wiped out between them.

"You have treated wounds on the field of battle, King Edmund?"

"I have," Edmund replied, and tied off the bandage.

"I will add this to your renown in Tashbaan—this, and something more. He will live, if they give good care."

Edmund did not reply, and Neerzat continued, as if savouring the irony, "He will live, but never to be the great hunter he dreamed of being."

Lucy. He wondered if... but she was days away, Diamond had said. No, Hoom would live, but Neerzat was right, he would not run strongly ever again.

"Enough!" Capun was saying. "Gul, choose now if you will go to the South or the East. You have your life, Foreigner Neerzat, and your road. It were wise to leave us now, with your followers."

Neerzat shrugged, looking across Hoom's form to Edmund, then stood up slowly, all blood-bespattered as he was, and bowed without reply. Gul's eyes were fixed on his brother; his face unreadable, he moved slowly sideways until he stood with the two assassins. The crowd fell back to make a road, and in silence the four left for the south.

So... a Telmarine in Calormen, Edmund thought, and pondered the danger to Narnia of that. Still, while the Tisroc would doubtless gather much information from his guest, the possibility of an alliance between Calormen and Telmar was surely averted for the time, at least. For the lifetime of Capun, and Capun's house. For the lifetime of Hurrdah's house as well.

And if he thought of time... he looked up to where Diamond had found a perch, and nodded slightly. Without fuss, without noise, she took wing, to the north.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That was an Achilles tendon being slashed, of course, low on the calf. Without immediate aid and expert surgery, such a blow, the _coup de Jarnac_ , could (did, famously, in a sixteenth-century duel in France) lead to death, and would at the best leave a permanent limp.
> 
> I said in the notes to the last chapter that I owed much to [rthstewart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/pseuds/rthstewart). So I do, and especially a major theme of this story, as hinted in the title of this chapter. 'The just man justices' is taken from 'As kingfishers catch fire', (GM Hopkins) a poem which Ruth references in [_The Stone Gryphon_](http://archiveofourown.org/series/15017). (I looked, but couldn't find exactly where!) Better yet, to quote her directly, "Whether it be human, animal, or space, any thing doing well what it was intended and created to do was a glorification of the Divine." ([ _The Stone Gryphon_](http://archiveofourown.org/series/15017), Chapter 5) I'm trying to explore in this story, one off-shoot of that, looking at how people (and Birds, and all! but especially the Valiant and the Just) work through what they were "intended and created to do."
> 
> This is getting so close to the end! If anyone has the impulse to review, please do. I could really do with the feedback, to see how things are striking people, (what's going right, what's gone off the rails) and of course it's very heartening as well to know when people are reading.


	18. Homecoming

Hoom lay with his eyes tight closed—fighting against the pain, Edmund supposed. He was certainly conscious, but had drawn away inside himself, battling to stop himself crying out, maybe; his lips were drawn back into a fixed, hard grin around tight-clenched teeth.

Capun, his eyes fixed on Hoom, was leaning heavily to one side in his chair, his chin pressed down against his chest, and dragging in his breath, as it seemed, in long difficult inhalations. His mouth was tightly closed, but quirked up to one side in a bitter, triumphant smile.

The silence lasted—one breath, two breaths—until the King saw that it was for him to act again, to ensure that the best that could be done for this man was ...

"Who is of Hoom's house?" he called. "Who will take him and care for his wound until it heals?"

After a brief pause some men he did not know detached themselves from the crowd, and came forward, and ranged themselves to lift the heavy body.

"The wound should be kept clean," Edmund said, "let him rest now, but tonight..."

"This is not the first man wounded we have seen," muttered one of them sullenly, his eyes sliding away from meeting the King's.

Then—he tried to shake from his mind the sense that he held responsibility here. He did _not_ ; the Telmarines were their own people, and Hoom was in the hands of his own followers now. And some of these women here present would know of herbs for fever, the King thought, and they had honey and long leaves for binding the wound, but still...

"Aslan's breath be on you!" he said as they left, in a last yearning to see mended what was so grievously broken here, but they just looked at him, with uncomprehending eyes, and slowly moved away.

There was an uneasy ripple through the crowd as they passed out of sight. Edmund wondered if he had miscalculated; if there were more of Hoom's followers who perhaps would move to challenge Capun. But...

"It was well done, Capun!" called Nem, and endorsing nods and murmurs showed Mavram and Reznar in agreement—though Wily, the King saw, had moved away behind the crowd, to where the Elephant-team stood, majestic in endurance.

"It is well to restore the hunt!" came another voice. "There will be ivory again for trade! There will be feasting."

"It is well to have feasting!" a woman called, and others took up the cry.

"There will be ivory..." said Capun, and then stopped to catch his breath again. "There will be ivory and..." He gestured: _Wait._

The younger man who sat beside him leaned close, and then stood to speak.

"Capun says: The feast is rightly to the hunters, but the ivory... It is known that Hoom traded ivory for iron and steel and for weapons, and in this he traded the deaths of many Telmarines for the good of Gul's house alone. This will be no longer."

There was confusion in the crowd; Nem and Mavram exchanged sharp, eager glances.

"The ivory now will come here, and there will be no trade in ivory save through this house alone, for the good of all Telmar."

"You say well that they would buy wealth by the death of Telmarines, Capun!" Nem called out, "but we have a _better_ way."

He looked urgently, to Reznar, who took up the cue, speaking once again, as Edmund gauged, the words he had been given.

"We have a better way... my father showed the way to harvest the strength of beasts, and to gain wealth without a need for the hunt, or the death that the hunt brings! We have the strength of the beasts, which has helped us to great wealth, and when each one dies, then we may gather ivory as women gather fruit, in due season."

Capun was slumped against the high carved back of his chair; his chin sunk on his chest. He nodded as if considering deeply, but it was a pretence of thought only, Edmund decided; his eyes glinted from under the lowered brows, and his mouth twisted in a private amusement, as he began to speak.

"A better way!" He paused and drew a long, rasping breath. "Well and wisely spoken, Rittar's son!"

Relief and delight flashed across Reznar's face. He sent a quick sideways grin to Mavram, who did not return it; her eyes were on Capun as he continued to speak.

"A better way, Telmar! Rittar's house has claimed that the Elephants can bring to us all wealth and great provision." Capun spoke to the younger man beside him, and that one rose and began to walk to Reznar. "We hear him gladly, since he has brought these beasts here for _the good of all Telmar._ We accept your gift, Rittar's son."

And Reznar was now looking wild questioning to Mavram, whose mouth had opened slightly, though she did not speak.

"Telmarines, I give you now _two_ of these for your feasting tonight! _Two_ beasts you may choose and kill for your feast! The rest will be for our wealth and our using. You have done well, Rittar's son, to bring these beasts into my hands, for the wealth of us all. Let them be led away now..."

"Not so!" Nem was calling, and Mavram, too, now had raised her voice, but the crowd—men, women and children all alike—was buzzing pleasurably at the mention of the proposed feast, and beginning to look around behind them to the team, to see which Elephants might be best to _choose and kill_ , seemingly unaware of the Southerners' kindling indignation.

The King felt only a ghastly cold of fear and self-reproach. _We should have been gone by now_ , he thought, _Was I wrong? Did the Herd not..._ He looked desperately to the sky.

"Not so!" Nem and Reznar both now were shouting; in the crowd heads turned again, away from the team and back to the central scene. Mavram too, calling and whirling about and about, appealing in turn to Capun, to the crowd. The younger man sent by Capun stood by—he was demanding the keys to the chains, it seemed, though his voice was not heard. He shrugged, humorously, across to Capun, and returned to his seat.

And now a slow realisation was rolling through those who had cheered at the prospect of a feast, and the cries deepened, became a rising tide of jeers and mockery at the discomfiture of the Southerners, a clamour against which Reznar strained in vain to make his voice heard:

"These are our _own_ beasts, to _my_ house!"

Capun's words no more than Reznar's could pierce the uproar, though scattered fragments of his speech could be read from his lips: ... _would make Telmar wealthy?_ ... _The beasts stay_.

But the noise, the uproar, was by now beyond controlling, and Capun did not attempt to control it. He, and those on either side of him, leaned back in their chairs like kings at a tourney, placidly appreciative of the turmoil.

Turmoil, tumult, frenzied and unintelligible howls—but underneath... the King stilled, fiercely intent to hear and to distinguish... yes, underneath, behind this horribly Human cacophony, there was another sound, not of shouting, but something more like a rolling thunder, though far off.

His eyes flicked upward. Yes. Diamond circled overhead.

He stepped back. Such of the crowd as were not shouting across each other were focussed on Capun and on the hapless Reznar, on Nem and Mavram. Wily had disappeared completely. _My turn to disappear_ , the King thought, and edged back further, back to the team-Elephants, towards the forest.

The team was restless; they had heard—something. Beside them, Wily—Wily, who worked so closely with the Elephants, who had known at least that they thought and felt and knew _in their way._ Their eyes met, briefly, and the King saw in the Telmarine's face... not fear exactly, but... Wily, too, knew something _in his way_.

And what was he doing here, with the team? And what danger might be about to crash...? But Diamond ahead was urging him to _Hurry! hurry!_

The King plunged on past the low outlying huts. Behind him the crowd's noise had changed tone—had shifted from shouting and jeers to a buzz of questioning. The roll of distant thunder had become a steady drumming—the crowd was turning as Mavram had turned, one way and then another, looking in rising confusion for the source of the noise which seemed now all around—shaking the air, beating on the earth, pounding until the very ground shook beneath.

The King had reached the edge of the forest. He looked quickly, up to Diamond, and then to the south, looking to see... and stood transfixed. From out of the south it came as a thundering monstrous swamping wave of sound crashing and crushing

and the Herd _burst_ upon the village in a roar of dust and trampling, brushing aside the frail wooden huts, huts tossed and obliterated like twigs in a surging flood, and the trampling and roaring—not words, not words, but a primal urgency of _Away! Away! Danger! Away!_ and the team-Elephants roaring in reply and plunging rearing tearing crashing and their chains snapped and

 _yes! yes! Thank you, Aslan!_ _Thank you_ , as he watched the team-Elephants sweep away north with the Herd, gathered up into that churning mass of fury and away and away from this village before ever the crowd could bethink itself to clutch at spears or call for nets or set a fire. _Thank you that I got this right...and Lucy, for showing me how..._

"Majesty!"

Diamond flapping into his face jolted him into action again, and then he was running too, not north, after the Herd, but west, deeper into the forest as planned, and beside him, unexpectedly, running as best it might, and bleating in alarm, was the Calf he had shielded from the mob in the timber-camp. How...? But there was no time for thinking. Deeper west into the forest, stumbling on the rising ground in the dense green shadows, until...

Before him, huge and still and solid as rock, watching his approach with unshifting gaze, one of the Nhaarh. She neither spoke nor smiled, but still with her eyes kept steady on the King silently reached out her trunk and gathered in underneath her the exhausted Calf, curling her trunk around him, holding and reassuring him until his frantic panting eased.

The King, too, was glad of the breathing-space. The change was too quick, too much, from the noise and the tension and the terror of the Northern village and the charge of the Herd to this, to the profound hush of the deep forest.

He stared at the Elephant, wondering why quietness and this chance to rest should be make him feel of a sudden so _tired_. She looked gravely back until the sounds of exhaustion—his own and the Calf's—died away. Then...

"It is well. Now, up."

"Greetings, Lady. I thank you that..."

She cut him off. "Do you know me?"

It was not Rummornornah, was all he knew, or all he could think. He shook his head, and then amended, "Forgive me. No, Lady, but I owe thanks to you..."

"I am Narrndurrh. Speak not to me of thanks or owing. Up, king."

King? She called him King. He wondered dazedly, what this might mean - that they had accepted the call to return as Narnians to Narnia? But that... it was too much to think through now, and the plan had been now to go north, to rejoin the Herd... He held out his arms and was hoisted aloft and seated behind, and Narrndurrh turned and began, noiselessly and delicately, to pick her way northwards through the forest.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Hazy scraps of memory of that journey came back to him for many months after...

...of Diamond fluttering and hovering above the big grey head— _May I, Cousin?_ —and of how she had settled, the permission given, and had sat before him, all intense alertness, peering ahead as the Elephant continued her regal, swaying progress up the steep forest ways...

...of how he had not been able to look away from that shining black form and how she had looked to him like the figurehead of a ship, and how he had hazily thought that Narnia should have ships and how once he got back to Cair Paravel they would build one, and name it the _Diamond..._

...of how after long silence, as if she had been ruminating painstakingly on the matter, Narrndurrh had said _Though, Speaker... it is not clear to me how an air-walker can be a cousin of mine..._

...and again, of how he had heard Diamond say once _He is no nestling, but he is not old as we are old,_ which words had seemed to hang in the air for a long time, long enough for him to wonder who was the _we_ who were old.

Sometimes he caught only half of an exchange, as when Narrndurrh said _Do you think so little of us? We charged the village not as mindless beasts; we know where each foot falls._ It was unknown to him what Diamond had said to provoke the disdain he discerned in the Elephant's voice, nor did he hear her next words, but Narrndurrh's rumbled reply stayed with him for much later pondering. _Each Telmarine life then was held as precious to us as this little one here ambling beneath me, my own child. Could we work death, against his work of life?_

And all the time the slow pacing through the forest, and the sun hidden so that he could not see plainly the direction nor how the day passed, though the air was cooling and it was surely nearer to the night.

Once, he had begun to slump down onto the broad, bristly scalp, he remembered, and the sharpness of those bristles had woken him enough to see that the forest was thinning out around them, and that a half-moon had risen and was glimmering through the trees away to the right. Somewhere, when they came to the plains, there would be the Herd, and meeting Rummornornah, who would now be ready to hear him, since the lost children of the Herd were returned... and very muzzily he had wondered what it was that he had thought was so important to say to them...

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Ed! _Ed!_ "

Lucy. For a moment he couldn't quite understand, but then... it was Lucy, and her voice was vibrant with overflowing gladness, and the morning sun was washing all across the land, and...

"Oh, _Ed!_ Come down!" His mind still flailed uncertainly. It was Lucy, but she looked so... "Come _down!_ "

He shook his head to come properly awake, and swung his legs over the side, but before he could jump, Narrndurrh reached back with her trunk, plucked him up and then set him down beside his wildly laughing, fiercely hugging sister, into a long moment of not needing to speak or to look about or to think of anything at all.

The ecstatic tempestuous hug subsided; still holding on to Lucy—wonderful, warm, _unshakeable_ Lucy—Edmund looked out over her shining head to assess just where they were, and what was happening.

They had left the forest, but this was not the open plain of his earlier meeting with the Herd. That made sense; he had travelled a good way to the west since then, and it seemed had come to the end of the broad forested shelf above the Cliff, where the Telmarines had made their home. This was the beginning of more rugged country; to his left were steep slopes, well treed, but broken by defiles where the morning sun was lost in rocky shadows; behind them again he saw mountains whose sides were gashed by whiteness, ice-bright where the sun struck on them.

Nothing much seemed to be happening. Three Ravens were perched before him— Sallowpad and Crimtwing and Diamond—and surrounding them, a clustering of many Elephants, young and old and female and male, some he half-knew from his three days' walking with the team-Elephants and some—Rummornornah and Narrndurrh—he knew and had spoken to. But though there were many... He looked past the first two ranks of Beasts, trying to see how many stood behind. No, his first assessment had been right. There were many, but even so, many fewer than he had expected; this assembly was much less than the great moving mass which had swept through the Telmarine village. It was maybe about the size of the first group he had met, he thought, but that had not included the wandering lone males, nor the team-Elephants, nor those whom he had abandoned and Lucy had rescued.

He looked directly at Rummornornah. "Where have they gone?'

Lucy's head came up; she pulled away a little. "Who?"

"The rest of the Herd. There should be more than this."

Lucy straightened and stepped away from him; he had a moment's quick, abstracted pleasure at how well they knew each other, to move without words from being family together to being Narnia's King and Queen. Without even exchanging glances—he was looking only at the Herd matriarch as he spoke.

"Lady Rummornornah, we have done as you asked. We have brought home the lost children of the Herd."

She answered, low and rumblingly, "You have done as we asked, King of Narnia. You and your sister have reunited the Herd. Those whom you do not see here with us watch us from afar; all know of your mighty deeds."

"Not we alone," Lucy said, gravely. "These here present also have joined us in this work."

And now he saw the small, brown figure of Lucy's water-girl friend, half-hidden in the shadow of the Herd.

Rummornornah inclined her head. "To these, our thanks. We have no more to give."

The water-girl did not respond. If anything, she drew back a little further into the shadow. The Ravens hopped and fluttered; Diamond's eye glinted sharply, but she did not speak, and he remembered how Windseer had said that Ravens, for all their quickness with words, were wise in diplomacy.

"You have reunited the Herd, King and Queen, and therefore we are gathered to hear you, as we promised, we here of the Nharrh, and those whom you do not see here with us, who watch from afar."

Who _watch from afar_ having learned the bitter truth that to be too easily seen could lead to death and slavery, Edmund realised. Well, he had come to offer them safety from those threats, but this felt more difficult than he had imagined, back then when he had first spoken to the Nhaarh. Then, he had imagined simply offering Narnia's welcome, and their joy in receiving, but now Rummornornah was promising only to hear. Nevertheless...

"We have come, as I said to you when we first met, to say to you that the horror of the Witch's time in Narnia is finished, that we live now in harmony and in a fruitful land, which we want to share with all lost Narnians. We have come to call you to return to us, to offer to you peace and safety from the hunt."

They had listened in attentive silence up to that point; at the mention of the hunt there was a deep, general rumbling, of both anger and pain.

"And to say," Lucy said, with her whole heart in her voice, "that we _want_ you back in Narnia! We would _love_ you there!"

He felt another ripple of pleasure, even in the midst of his uncertainty; Lucy was so inescapably _herself_ , and it was a self he loved very much. He picked up her lead.

"My sister speaks truth from her heart. Hear, oh Nharrh, and all Elephants: your ancestral land of Narnia calls you through us, and is open to you, and hear further: that it would truly be a precious gift to us, it would gladden our hearts, to have you back among us."

The big heads moved a little, and somewhere there was a long blurting exhalation, like a sigh.

"We have heard," Rummornornah's gaze was steady. "We have heard you now, as we agreed. You have brought us back our children, and for our children's freedom—and more than freedom, for the healing which has begun," she reached out and caressed Lucy's cheek, delicately, and it seemed, a little sadly, with the tip of her trunk, "we are your subjects and your debtors."

"Not debtors! _Never_!" cried Lucy. "This is just our job, it's what we had to do."

Rummornornah let out a long breath— _hoooomph_ —and continued.

"Narnia's King, Narnia's Queen, who have given us much, and would give more—we have heard you, and know how great is the gift you would give us. But hear me now. None in Narnia now, maybe, knows how things were long ago, before we left. We have heard you tell that you come to call those who left for dread of the Witch, but we left long before that time, and not for fear of her. We were driven from Narnia not by that agony, but long before."

"Driven?" asked Lucy quickly.

"Driven not by our Cousins," Rummornornah amended, "but by our own nature. Narnia is a blessed land, but is not a land for us. Our way is quietness and ranging over spacious places. Narnia is little and busy; many quick-darting lives interweave there, and many peoples. For you, this is your love in action, but for us, it was... " She moved her head uneasily. "We could not breathe in the face of so much, in so small a land. And the forests there which are forests of living Trees—these are not for the tearing of our clumsy passing..."

"Never clumsy!" Edmund broke in, remembering Narrndurrh's precise and intelligent steps, but Rummornornah continued, as if he had not spoken.

"...and our devouring. The living Trees of Narnia would give to us until their own trunks bled, I do not doubt, but we could not want that. Then, too, Narnia had in those old times warlike neighbours, and whiles we lived in Narnia, how could we stand aside from her defence? We fought in those wars, as wisely and as well as we were able, because we were Narnian, and we could not turn from her defence—but war is not our true calling, great King and great Queen; we are a quiet people. For all these reasons, we moved long ago, at first in ones and twos and then in Herds, here to the Western Wild."

She lowered her head; her eyes asked understanding, but told plainly that there would be no turning from their way.

"For all these reasons, we will not return to Narnia."

**o-o-o-o-o**

It felt like a weight had crushed down on him again. He had thought that it was over, but... he took a deep breath. "But if you stay here you can _never_ be safe. And it's not just the Telmarines... now the Calormenes know about you, too. For now, they've gone, but they are a very subtle, long-thinking and dangerous enemy; their plans are laid over years of years, not for the moment. And..." The huge potential misery of it began to overwhelm him. "...I have heard Neerzat speak; I know that if they captured your children it would be to force them again into the art of war..."

He saw in a moment's horrific vision how it would be—the Elephants goaded and terrified into charging and trampling over the Tisroc's rebellious subjects, or linked by heavy chains and driven across a battlefield to sweep it clear of smaller fighters. And the Telmarines, too, would be back, and in much quicker time. It could not be long before the hunting skills cherished among Hoom's followers would flower under Capun's new encouragement, and then...

Lucy had been standing in absolute stillness. Now she spoke, not to the Nharrh, but to her friend—Kirrina, she was called, he remembered—standing in the shadows.

"This is what you meant, isn't it?" she said.

The voice which answered sounded a little regretful, maybe, but otherwise much colder and more remote than he had remembered the little friend being.

"The Elephants are their own people, Queen. They will go their own way."

The Elephants stirred uneasily; Narrndurrh shouldered through to the front of the gathering.

"We will not return to Narnia, but sorrow not for us, Queen. We walk our own paths, far from the hunters, as best we might. Many of us have already gone, over years, deeper into the mountains, into the West. We who stayed stayed only to be near the stolen children. But now that we are reunited with the lost, we also will go westward."

She reached out her trunk, to touch Edmund's hand. "You spoke of peace and of safety, King, but even if there is risk, here above the Cliff, we need the space, and the time, to heal and to breathe and to learn to be ourselves again."

"But they will follow! The Telmarines and the Calormenes... not soon, maybe, but they _will_ follow! Where can you go that will be safe?"

"Maybe nowhere. But for now, into the West."

The deep sadness of it all rushed over him; the horrors which they had endured which was forcing them now to choose danger, to find peace, and the inevitability that must come if they did. But it was true, as Lucy's friend said, and as he had said himself to the Telmarines: the Elephants were not Telmar's nor Narnia's to control—they were their own. He swallowed hard, and turned to Lucy. "We've done what we came to do, Lu. The rest of it's not up to us."

She shook her head, resolutely. "There must be something. There _must_ be some way."

Her soft child's face looked to him flint-hard in its determination; a child, but there was something very commanding about her, he felt; he was speaking with a Queen indeed. But when she spoke next, it was not to him, but to the water-girl.

"Kirrina?"

"Queen?"

" _Is_ there a way?"

"Yes, Queen. Westward through those mountains is a path leading to a country which is open, and is free of Humankind."

The Elephants, he saw, were listening intently.

"It is a wide country of green valleys and cool forests, and spacious open places where dry and fragrant grasses rustle on the good, warm ground. There these would have the time and the breadth of habitation to breathe and to heal and to know themselves again."

"Can they be safe there?"

"There is a way that they can be safe. But it is a way of sorrow to you, Queen, and perhaps also some small loss."

"You know _how_ , though, don't you? You know how to make them safe."

Edmund glanced from one to the other; there was something unknown here, something beyond him. The water-girl's face was now more shadowed—it was not that she stood in the shadow of the Herd, he realised, but that there was a shadow which came some other way; her darkness had nothing to do with the sun, and her voice out of the darkness was cool and distant.

"The Singer gave me this power, as he has given you the power to rule. How we use our power is our gift in return."

"And... " Edmund watched his sister's face wrinkle in calculation. "how _long_ will they be safe?"

"To know that is not in my gift. But I think it will be many years yet before the Singer brings the song to silence."

Lucy's face was very serious. "What is the sorrow that comes to me from this, Kirinna?"

"To forego forever, Queen, the joy you much desired, of being with these whom you love."

"That doesn't matter. What I want doesn't matter here, does it, Ed?"

That much, in all this unknown, he _could_ answer, he thought thankfully; that much was clear to him.

"Nope."

"Then that's all right! Of course I wanted that, but them being safe is what really counts." His sister's voice was brisk, glad and satisfied. "And you said a small loss, too?"

"If I do this, I must leave you, Queen, to deal with those who lie far from here, in ice and rock. And that may be a small loss and loneliness to you, since I cannot say how long it might be until your playmate has returned."

"It doesn't matter how long. I'll still be there."

"That is as the song is sung." The voice which came from Kirrina's darkness echoed with a coldness that sounded like—but was not exactly that, Edmund judged— indifference. "Do you desire this thing of me, Lucy? It will be long, as you count long, before we meet again."

"I don't care," said Lucy fiercely. But her very vehemence gave the lie to that, Edmund thought. "I am _asking_ you to!"

Then more quietly, "I am asking you to do this, _Kitagkirrinakgurrunalongkakitagkirrina_."

"It will be done."

"Th-thank you. And maybe... Kirrina, maybe..." Lucy's voice wavered between desolation and tremulous hope. "Can I use your name to call you back, too? Kirrina? Can I?"

Quick brightness glinted in the dark, and Kirrina's voice was suddenly warm again, alive with amusement and affection.

"It is not for the hearing of my name—of that very _little_ part of my name which you yet know, Queen—but for the love I bear you, and the love you bear these, that I will go, and change, and become something other than your playmate."

"Then," Lucy spoke very rapidly, like someone bargaining as time runs out, "tell me more of it, and then I'll be able to!"

Kirrina laughed aloud, in lilting, rippling laughter more joyous and lovely than anything Edmund had heard since he had left Cair Paravel; he felt a great longing to be back there surge through him.

"No, no, valiant Queen... you know too much as it is! Be content; the name you call has power enough to save these, and in that name I will lose myself to become ice, as I did in the winter when you were left alone."

And she was gone. Into the ground, Edmund thought, but he could not be sure. The Elephant Herd was now restless, turning, listening, it seemed, to something he could not hear. Their ears flapped wide, and their trunks raised, in a palpable eagerness.

Rummornornah spoke, with subdued, triumphant trumpeting.

"Great King, Great Queen... it is time we left you, this Herd whom you have brought to unity again. She calls us, and we will go where she leads. We go, but," she reached out her trunk towards them,entreatingly, "we would go more gladly with your blessing."

"Of _course_! Of course you have our blessing! Ed?"

He didn't think his words were what counted here, but if it was his words they asked for, then that was what he would give.

"Go with our blessing, Cousins all. Light and joy go with you, Mothers and Wanderers and Herd. Aslan's breath be on you, now and forever in your new lands."

The Elephants raised their trunks, and trumpeted aloud and joyously—in salute, or in thanks—then turned and began to tread westward.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The sun was setting as the last of them disappeared through one particular defile—as Kirrina was leading them, he supposed. The mountains were dark against the fiery sky; the moon—a waning moon—had not yet risen. Lucy's eyes had been fixed, tensely, on the retreated Herd until the last of them had gone; like them she had seemed to be listening to something he could not hear.

But now he did hear something, a strange groaning or creaking noise, a curiously unsettling noise, which did not seem to come from anywhere in particular.

"Did you hear that?" he asked Lucy.

"I can't hear them any more," she said, still straining her eyes westward. "Goodbye, good Cousins. Aslan go with you."

"No, not Elephants. That other noise. That creaking noise."

It came again. Old houses did that, he remembered. The Professor's house—he reached back into his memory, trying to recall it—had sometimes creaked and groaned like this, by itself, old timbers flexing and shifting uneasily. But here—this noise was of another order, not close at hand and small, but echoing and distant and...

"Hold hands!" he said to Lucy. "There's something wrong."

She still looked west, and hardly seemed to hear him, but he grabbed her hand anyway.

The noise was coming from the west; he looked, and saw that the gash of shining white on the black mountain—a glacier, he realised—had widened. There was a sharp flash of light; the ice had caught and refracted for one instant the light of the setting sun. And now came another noise, a mighty, thunderous cracking and tearing asunder and rending of the earth, and as they watched the whole side of the higher mountain swung slowly out, sheared away from the greater mass and crashed unstoppably down, huge and final, to seal forever from Human passage the narrow defile which was the entrance to the land where the Herd had found a home.

**o-o-o-o-o**

The whole sky had rung with the noise, like a struck gong, and for long they stood in silence, gazing, but gradually the ringing echoes grew less, and the last rosy light faded from the western sky, leaving them alone under the stars. Edmund looked to the Queen; she did not look at him, and very gently he slipped his hand from hers.

"Lu?"

"Oh... Edmund."

She glanced across with a quick smile, but he realised with a sudden sadness, that she had for the time completely forgotten him.

"Kirrina... she's... I thought she was just some sort of... I don't know... rockpool Naiad. But she's someone much more..." He frowned and let the sentence fall.

"Yes."

"She's very powerful."

"Yes, she is.'

"Lu... " He hesitated; then his restless mind drove him on. "You were working with her, weren't you? You were part of bringing the mountain down?"

"In a way. She could have done it by herself alone. By her name. But she let me ask her... I don't know why."

"You used her name to persuade her? Like a... a lever, to move her to do what you wanted?"

"No. It's not like that..."

Lucy looked very thoughtful. His little sister, he realised was... she was still his little sister, but she was also someone who was part of something right outside his knowing.

His little sister who had, it seemed, travelled from Narnia to this place by hidden ways through rock and water. And the being who had taken her by those ways had gone, and it was time to go home, and Lucy was here with only himself, now, to be her companion on the long road there. But if he was all she had to be beside her... well... here he was.

"So, Great Queen, can I walk you home?" he said, and offered his arm to her, in grand fashion, to try to make her smile again.

She turned back from gazing into the West, and he saw her eyes were full of tears.

"Oh, _yes!_ That sounds _so_ good, Ed.  Let's go home."

  
**o-o-o-o-o**

**o-o-o**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end! Or at least, it's the end of the story proper, the story of what followed from the visit to Narnia of the Telmarine ivory merchants, but there is a little more to be told of the aftermath, and also of some sidetracks which are not properly part of the main story, and so an epilogue will follow - though not for a month or so - which I hope will find as kind a readership as this has found so far. Reader-responses are always welcome - and questions, if there's anything you'd like to have clarified.


	19. Epilogue

Stories must have an end, and the tale of How the Just and the Valiant Saved the Lost Narnians, as in later days it came to be told, ended when the wandering king and queen turned their faces again towards their own land. But though stories end, real lived lives go on, and each neat ending is merely the curtain behind which every story splinters into a hundred new tales, new shards of story, which may be known to many, or only to few, or maybe just kept by one as a memory never to be spoken aloud to any other.

o-o-o

For generations Narnians told how the returning adventurers were acclaimed with great triumph on their return to Cair Paravel, and how the High King had proclaimed on that day that his brother, having travelled so far and with such great heart through the lands which loomed above the Narnia's westernmost regions, should from that day forth be known as the Count of the Western March, to hold forever the high duty of care for those who lived there, and of close watching and dealings with those who dwelt above the Wall.

o-o-o

And those ones, those who lived above the Wall, had their own tales; the prosperous descendants of one they called Wily the Herd long told to those who asked why they prospered and others did not, how he had sought and met the Eastern king and queen, and had eased for them their descent of the Cliff and their return to their own land; this meeting that clan linked, obscurely, to their strange choice, unmatched in Telmar, to gather and nourish the goats which once they had hunted, and to breed up both the fine-fleeced and the creamy-milking kinds, the source of much traffic in the years to come with the folk who lived below in Murmuring Valley.

o-o-o

Such were tales, whether Telmarine or Narnian, told widely and openly, generation to generation. There were other tales, splinterings of story known only to a few, not recounted aloud to the many.

Thus, it was only the Four themselves who ever knew what debates, what discussions, what considerations were turned and examined and sifted again before they determined the appointment of the Head Raven of Narnia to serve on the Great Council.

And it was only that still-incomplete Great Council—only the Beavers and Windseer and old Diamond—who were gathered to advise their sovereigns on the day when the Queen Susan read aloud to the Council a missive lately arrived, purportedly from the Grand Vizier in Tashbaan, asking with bland and urbane phrasing that Narnia receive as guest a travelling Tarkhaan:

" _...for the mutual benefit of our lands_ , it says here, _and moreover to allow our well-beloved and puissant Cousin, he having once tasted its sweetness, once again to savour the fine wines and the fine wit of fair Cair..._ "

"Stop!" interrupted the High King. " _having once tasted..._? This is not a first visit, then? "

"Evidently not," said his sister. "And since no other Tarkhaan has been here in living memory, it is..."

"That Neerzat!" exclaimed Mrs Beaver, her whiskers bristling indignantly.

"And therefore there is no need to read further," said the High King. "I take it there's no question about our answer."

There was a silence, and he looked sharply around the table. "Narnia will not receive as our guest a twice-proven enemy, who has plotted the slavery of our subjects and the assassination of..."

"Hold up." The King Edmund's more measured tones broke in. "If a diplomat cannot be a friend, brother—do you remember how you wised me to that truth? —then let us consider that maybe he cannot be an enemy. I hold no grudge against Neerzat, though he would have seen me dead for his Tisroc's gain. Would you hold a grudge against a warrior who for his country's sake tried to wallop off your head in hot battle?"

"No, no grudge." The High King spoke more slowly now, and consideringly. "But in such a case I would know the length of his sword-arm, at least, and would not let him one hand's breadth nearer."

"Nor do I hold Neerzat a grudge," King Edmund said. "Let him come. I would not be averse to fencing with him again. I was too much engaged, when last we met, to enjoy his company, but I saw at least that he was... useful in a crisis. He's not one of us, but he's a valuable man. "

"The Tisroc's man, not ours." The High King was watching him closely.

"Yes. But I ... to be frank, I rather admire his cheek—and his courage. He must guess how you'd all feel about him, and after all, he is the one coming into our territory. And better the devil you know, I suppose."

"Your Majesty?" Windseer looked up from his record-keeping, puzzled. "Devil?"

"Oh, never mind. It means... ahhh... " The King frowned, uncertain at that moment exactly what he did mean by the strange word.

"Better well-known bitter than a stranger's brew," cut in Mr Beaver. "That's plain enough."

"All too plain for you, Mr Beaver," interjected his wife, tartly.

"To return to the matter," the High King said. "Sisters? Raven Diamond? How counsel you?"

The Council continued.

o-o-o

Or there were stories of which the truth was known only to one, or to two, but of which a hundred rumours might swirl about, becoming in the end cross-cutting legends, such that the tale told in one town or valley differed from that told just one half-day's gentle walk away, and that again from the next until the two tales might seem two indeed. Thus, of the Queen Lucy's next meeting with the Unknown River, nothing certain was known, or only to those two, since the River was not one who wanted to be known, and therefore was unknowable until she herself chose to be known.

It was believed by some that she stayed long years, silent and unmoving, with the Ice, for fulfillment or restoration of what had been foregone or set aside in the breaking of the mountain; others told that she lingered rather with the Elephants in their wide green valleys, and that there she was known, and spoke with the Beasts in languages not heard in Narnia since the days of ancient greatness; still others claimed that she stayed not away from Narnia at all, but that the Queen knew the way to find the River when she would, and that they played and sang together, and even travelled again together, though none would say where it might be that they travelled.

But these were rumours, tales of what could be, not of what was known. All that was known certainly, even to the rest of the Four, was that the place kept on the Great Council for the Immortal, which many had thought might be filled by the Queen's own friend, rested empty, until that time which is told in a different tale, of the High King's great deed of daring in the North.

o-o-o

And one tale was at first told only by one, to no other than himself, thus:

For many days after the king and queen had descended the Cliff with the aid of Wily, later called the Herd, one other lingered there, a man tall and strong, but walking awry, and haltingly. That one saw all that had passed, though he himself stayed unseen, and after the king and the queen and Wily the Herd had gone, he stayed alone, looking out across the Eastern Lands, brooding. And he told to himself alone, at first, the story of how it had come to pass that Telmarines no longer might hunt the ivory-bearers, nor even use them as had lately come to be, as beasts of burden and as builders of great houses, and he told himself that Telmar's glory had been stolen and Telmar's pride brought down to the dust.

And he forged and shaped the tale, until his anger hardened it into a set purpose, and to follow that purpose, he thought and watched until he found first one, then more, to listen as he told them his tale of how Narnia had entered and betrayed Telmar, and had made profit from Telmar's ruin.

First one, then more, listened, and the tale was turned and hardened still further, and when in time that first teller went into darkness, others in anger and pity for his life and injury and death reworked those old sorrows to become part of the whole, as if he and Telmar had been one, and had been alike betrayed to great loss. And so the tale was taken up, and honed and polished until it became—still a tale, but also something more, something so finely made that it took on power of its own, a power to catch new listeners; and over years the listeners came, at first to to wonder, gazing out across the Eastern Lands, and then to yearn to be mere listeners no more but to leave Telmar's tame, consenting ways, and to adventure far as Hoom the Old had done, and to take up arms, and to strike for justice and at last to reclaim for Telmar Telmar's heritage, the glory and the destiny denied by perfidious Narnia.

o-o-o-o-o

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! Thanks again, good readers, and even more, reviewers!


End file.
